The Dead Man of Shreveport
by Miral
Summary: What happens when a 1,000 year old Viking Vampire Sheriff and a 26 year old telepathic barmaid partner up to solve mysteries? What doesn't happen might be the better question. A supernatural romantic comedy. AU, SVM canon thru Club Dead.
1. The Beginning

**Disclaimer: Characters and setting belong to Charlaine Harris. I just decided to play a game of 'What If?' with them.**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: The glorious period during which Bill was seeking nirvana at Machu Picchu in Peru.**

* * *

I heard the noise outside my window but ignored it at first as just the trees rustling in the mid-January winds. Snuggled under my yellow-cream bedspread, I was engrossed in my historical romance novel, due back at the Bon Temps library on Saturday. It wasn't until I heard the noise a second time that I put down my book and concentrated.

I sensed a void directly outside my bedroom wall.

A void could only mean one thing: there was a vampire outside.

I quickly dismissed a fleeting thought that it might be my ex-boyfriend, Bill.

Bill Compton, not only my ex-boyfriend, was also my only boyfriend. While I continued to feel a pang here and there over our breakup, I couldn't help but recognize that I was getting over him. He had cheated on me with his ex, Lorena. In addition to being his ex, she was also his vampire maker. Long story short, she'd found out about a vampire database he was working on that would make somebody very wealthy. Wanting that somebody to be her, she kidnapped and tortured Bill to get him to reveal the location of his database. Despite the fact that he left me for her, I went to Jackson, Mississippi to rescue him. While I was able to save Bill from where he was being held captive, I had to kill Lorena to do it. That, and some other stuff that happened when I rescued him, made for a pretty awkward situation between us. Not sure if there's a quick and easy way to bounce back from "I killed your ex who was also your mom who kidnapped and tortured you." That was just my side of the story. Bill's side was equally bad. Jerry Springer would've had a field day with us.

It was ironic, considering all the complications of our human-vamp relationship, that it was just run-of-the-mill cheating that did us in. I'd heard a lot of women—like my co-worker Arlene—go on and on about "once a cheater, always a cheater." And they were talking about human guys. If your boyfriend's a vamp and he's a cheater, and he's been around for a hundred years or more, I'd figure he'd be even more set in his ways than a human guy would be. The impulse to cheat ingrained over a hundred plus years has got to be a tough habit to break. I'm human. I just don't have that kind of time to devote to boyfriend make-overs.

It wouldn't be Bill anyway since he was off climbing Machu Picchu in Peru.

Whoever this vamp was, I knew I was safe as long as I stayed inside my house. Vampires can only enter a human's home if the human invites them inside. I had rescinded the invitation of all the vampires I had ever allowed inside my home—five, including the aforementioned ex—a month earlier.

Of course, for most humans, the power of withholding invitations was temporary at best. This was because vamps can glamour— or hypnotize—most folks into extending invitations. Not me, though.

My quirky brain came with one gift that seems to often put me in danger with vamps and another gift that can actually help keep me out of trouble with vamps.

The first gift is that I'm a telepath. I can read human minds. But not vampire minds. Well, not usually. Vamps like to use my quirk to test their human employees, to make sure they're trust-worthy. Since vampires are very vulnerable during the day, they need to take extra precautions with who they let into their world.

The second gift is the fact that I can't be glamoured.

I guess if my telepathy is the booby prize, the can't-be-glamoured thing is a consolation prize. While there are many days I wish I weren't a mind reader, I thank my lucky stars every day for the anti-glamour shield. Most vampires have been around a long time. They're not used to not getting their way. Their ability to glamour allows them to always get their way. Well, almost always.

As I sat in my warm bed, I was determined that whoever was outside was going to stay outside. Being involved with vamps just got me into Heaps of Trouble, time and time again. But that was last year. New Year's had just passed and I had vowed to turn over a new leaf. A new vampire-free, danger-free leaf. So far, so good.

I still, however, needed to know who was outside my bedroom window.

Tossing off my covers, I jumped out of bed and walked over to the window. Pulling open the curtain, I gasped when I saw who was out there. Given how many times this particular individual has peered at me through closed windows, you would think I wouldn't have been so surprised. I guess some things are just harder to get used to than others.

I quickly unlocked the latch and opened the window. I felt a rush of cold air hit my skin.

"Eric! What the heck are you doing here?"

Eric Northman was the vampire sheriff of Louisiana's Area Five. Technically he was Bill's boss as well as the head honcho of the Shreveport region vamps. He was also six foot four with a mane of thick blond hair, strong, chiseled features, and sapphire blue eyes. Gorgeous and muscular, I think Eric probably didn't need to resort to glamour as much as other vamps might.

Eric was also pretty lively for a dead guy and he—unlike other vampires I'd met, including Bill—had a healthy sense of humor. I was always impressed by that. You'd think being a 1,000 years old would have made him jaded, but Eric actually appreciated finding fun in the little, everyday moments. He and I certainly shared a few fun moments of our own. We'd also shared a kiss or two, a little blood on occasion, and a little ...ah...exploratory third base action. I was technically still with Bill at the time. Well, I did mention how awkward that breakup was.

Eric, meanwhile, was standing on my porch staring at me. Like really staring. Looking down, I noticed for the first time since his arrival what I was wearing.

Tight Bon Temps High t-shirt. Oops.

Snug boy shorts. Double oops.

No bra. Triple oops.

Just so it's clear, I should be wearing blinders and a chastity belt when Eric's around.

I frowned. I wasn't the only one who should've been wearing blinders.

"Eric, do you think you can pull your eyes off my chest long enough to tell me why you're here?"

Eric focused his gaze on my face and grinned.

"Sookie, of course I can do that. But why would you deny me such a simple pleasure? They are quite lovely. They certainly deserve attention and appreciation."

I noticed Eric's eyes shifting over my shoulder to the other side of my room, by the door to the hallway.

"There's no one else here, if that's why you're looking over that way."

"Yes, I smelled something around the other side of your house."

"What?" I asked.

Pausing briefly, he lowered his gaze when finally he replied. "It was likely nothing." He looked up at me again. Then down at my chest again.

"Eric! You didn't come out from Shreveport just to stare at my breasts!"

Eric smiled then, exposing near-perfect white teeth.

"I didn't? My Sookie, if ever I doubted you when you said you couldn't read vampire minds, you've quite disabused me of that notion now."

"Foof! Eric! I'm gonna go wrap myself like a burrito in a Snuggie if you don't cut it out! Tell me what you're doing at my house at 11:00 o'clock at night! Don't you have a bar that you need to be tending to?"

Eric just continued to stand outside my window. I took note of his attire for the first time. Underneath a black leather jacket, he wore a snug black t-shirt with his bar's logo in red and white. Fangtasia: the bar with a bite. The shirt's thin fabric was pulled taut on his chest like a professionally wrapped Christmas present. I realized I must've been staring for a while when Eric shrugged out of his jacket and started flexing and doing strong man poses.

I told him where to go with that.

"Stop that Eric! I don't need to see you flexing your arms like that!"

Eric stopped flexing and, smiling, he shook his head.

"Sookie, do you not see how similar we are?"

"Huh?" Male vampire. Human female. Hmm. Not really. "Well we're both blond and blue-eyed and living in northwestern Louisiana. Oh, even that's wrong. We're both existing in northwestern Louisiana. I don't see what else we might have in common," I shrugged. I really didn't see where he was going with all this talk and all his staring at my "girls." I could think of one surefire way to hose him down from whatever state of hot-and-bothered he'd managed to self-induce. "Oh, and of course, we both know Bill Compton!" I glanced over at my softball trophies as I rubbed my hands up and down my arms to warm them up and nodded. "Yeah," I turned back to Eric and gave him my breeziest of smiles. "Bill," I repeated for good measure. "I think that about sums up the extent of the stuff we have in common."

Eric, meantime, looked piqued now. Internally I patted myself on the back. Sookie-1, Eric-0. Staring at me, Eric shook his head and looked down. When he brought his face up again, a grin was playing at his lips and he was chuckling softly.

"Fine, Sookie. You win. Blond hair, blue eyes, northwestern Louisiana, and the ever-erstwhile Bill Compton. But for these, you and I should find no other common interests with which we could occupy ourselves."

Unfortunately mouth reacted a hair faster than my brain.

"Eric! Stop with all that nasty talk!"

Eric let out a snort of laughter. As I watched him laugh, I felt my cheeks burn. Embarrassed at first, I was quickly getting pissed off.

"Eric!" Okay, I may have been whining a teensy bit. "Stop laughing at me! I don't even know what you're laughing at! Nobody said anything funny!"

"No...Soo-kie..." Eric, still chortling, was sputtering out one syllable at a time. Finally he choked out a sentence. "The fact that I say 'common interests' and you hear 'nasty talk'...no…this ...this is not funny at all!"

Damn if he didn't launch into a new round of laughter. See what I mean about him having a healthy sense of humor? I could feel a blush travel down my neck.

"Well, Eric! I can't help it if you leer and make all these sexual innuendos when you talk!"

"But I was not doing anything like that," he replied, finally settling down. "I assure you." His eyes were dancing as he looked at me. "I know I am capable of such things but this time I did not."

"Oh." Yeah, I'm not always very quick around Eric.

"May I come in, Sookie?"

"I think I like you outside, thank you very much"

"Oh, _I think you'd like me better inside_."

I felt my cheeks flame up again at the all-too-clear innuendo in his words.

"Dammit, Eric! That! That's what I'm talking about! You did that on purpose! I know it!"

"Yes, I did. I wanted to show you the difference."

"What? You're trying to teach me how to tell when you're making nasty insinuations at me?"

Eric, staring at me, held his mouth in a tight line. He looked like he was about to burst. Suddenly he was laughing again.

"Yesss..." He actually doubled over he was laughing so hard. He continued for a bit, until finally his laughter petered out.

Shaking my head, I just stared at him. "I can't believe you find this so funny. I swear if you've got blood tears from laughing so hard, I'll —"

Eric was finally done laughing. Calm and collected, he brought his eyes to mine. No blood streaks.

"What, Sookie? What will you do?"

Suddenly he was serious. The way he was looking at me sent a shiver down my spine. In a good way. Dammit.

"I'd just be real surprised to see a vamp laugh so much that they waste blood."

"Yes, well I did not."

"No," I smiled, "you didn't."

"I think, Sookie Stackhouse," Eric's gaze held my own, "that it's only a matter of time."

I could tell from his tone, his words held multiple meanings. But he was being serious. He wasn't teasing me for once.

"It's a matter of time until what?"

"It's a matter of time until you will hear my words and not only your internal assumptions."

He did have a point. Being a telepath, I don't have to wonder what most people are thinking. I can easily enough dip into their brains and find out. With vampires it's different. I can't do that. I never know what they're thinking. I certainly never knew what Bill was thinking. So I'm left to make assumptions. Eric, I figured, thought about sex a lot. And maintaining order in his vampire area. Maybe he thought about Pam, his vampire child, once in a while. They seemed as close as siblings. (Since Eric and Pam each looked to be in their 20s, it was weird to think of them as parent and child, or maker and child.) Going back to the list of things I thought Eric had kicking around in his head, I'd have to say getting into my pants was definitely one of them.

"Um, maybe."

Eric seemed pleased as he glanced around my bedroom.

"Well, if you are not going to invite me in, let me tell you what brings me here. The esteemed Mr. Compton is the investigator for my area. You remember this?"

Bill had lobbied the Vampire Queen of Louisiana to get himself appointed investigator. He claimed to have done it so that he would have more standing in the political hierarchy and 'we'—since there was a 'we' at the time—would have some standing in the vamp community and 'we' wouldn't be forced into stuff. Since Bill was thousands of miles away in Peru and I was standing in my bedroom with Eric Northman outside my window, whatever Bill had been trying to do seemed to have worked for one of us. And it wasn't me.

Thanks, Bill. I'll have to remember to send him a thank you note.

"Yeah, Eric. I recall something about Bill being the investigator."

"Well, Sookie, as Bill's human—"

"Whoa there, Eric! I'm not Bill's anything anymore!"

Eric smiled then, but it didn't quite make it to his eyes, which still seemed serious.

"Yes, thank goodness for small favors."

"Well, I guess we found something we can agree on, but I doubt you came all this way out from Shreveport to just go off on Bill." Eric looked ready to retort but I cut him off. "Not that I doubt you wouldn't want to—heck it would probably make your top ten list of favorite things to do! Following Bill out to Peru just to sit beside him each night to insult him might be your dream vacation itinerary. But I know better. I know you're busy. Busy being Area Five Vampire Sheriff. So, out with it, please. Why are you here?"

"I find that there are situations in the area that require investigating…"

Eric paused. Gorgeous though he may be to look at –and certainly not the worst thing to be looking at before bed—I was tired and had had a long day.

"Come on, Eric! Out with it! Enough with this do-si-doing. It's late! It's cold. I should be in bed!"

Eric raised an eyebrow at that. I cringed when I replayed the words in my head. I knew which ones he would pick up on.

"Sookie, we can easily relocate our conversation to your bed so that you're warm and comfortable." His eyes dropped back to my chest briefly. "You have only to ask me in and we may both lie in comfort. We've had such discussions before."

Yawning, I turned to glance at my bed. It looked so inviting. I work as a waitress at a bar/restaurant, so I'm on my feet all day. I'd worked the day shift but stayed on a few extra hours to cover for one of my coworkers, Charlsie, who went with her pregnant daughter to a doctor appointment.

I focused my attention back on Eric and caught him in an uncharacteristically unguarded moment. He was staring thoughtfully, pondering something.

Heck, did I think Eric Northman was going to try to kill me or harm me? Well, he certainly looked hungry enough when he was around me, but I knew he wasn't hungry for my blood as much as he was hoping to relive our past physical interludes. I wasn't going to have any of that and I knew he would never force me. Don't ask me how I knew this, I just did. I couldn't be glamoured. I didn't have anything to fear on that end. He'd been really considerate paying to have my driveway graveled just before the holidays. I'd sent him a thank you note, but maybe an in person thanks was in order? Decision made.

"Eric, won't you please come inside?"

Eric stared at me and groaned.

"I swear you do that on purpose to tease me," he grimaced.

Confused, I thought back to what I just said and would've been absolutely mortified had I not looked at him right then. Eric had such a pained expression on his face—like he was a three year old I'd just asked to hold a bag of lollipops but instructed not to eat any—I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. I pushed the screen up and moved away from the wall so that he had ample room to fold his large body in through the window.

That is how I came to work on solving Southern Vampire Mysteries with Eric Northman, former Viking, Vampire Sheriff, and model gorgeous heartthrob.

The Beginning.

* * *

**A/N: So, this is an idea I had. I always thought, in retrospect, that CH was going for something different in the early days of the SVM series before her muse shanghaied the story. Even the series' official name, the Southern Vampire Mysteries, belies this. Aside from the Dallas investigation and looking for you-know-who in Mississippi, there never were any official mysteries. What if there were? What if Eric and Sookie found themselves partnered up to solve real supe mysteries? Where am I going with this? Does anyone remember the classic film series, "The Thin Man"? How about "Remington Steele"? Maybe "Moonlighting"? Yeah, it's like that.**

**Thanks, as always, for reading.**


	2. The Other Gift

**Disclaimer: Characters and setting belong to Charlaine Harris. I just decided to play a game of 'What If?' with them.**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: The glorious period during which Bill was seeking nirvana at Machu Picchu in Peru.**

* * *

Once inside my bedroom, Eric spent a few minutes looking around. Since he'd been in my room before, his need to conduct an inspection piqued my curiosity. Soon enough, his wandering eyes settled on me. Without blinking, I met his stare.

Still not sure why I let him in, I figured it was—at least, in part—due to the kindness he had shown me the previous month when I discovered Bill's philandering. Of course, I knew Eric's kindness wasn't completely altruistic since he wanted to have sex with me. How did I know this? He'd told me a bunch of times. He even referred to me as his "future lover" to a couple of thugs who had tried to kidnap us. While Eric Northman was many things, coy wasn't one of them.

After suffering Bill's ambivalence during the weeks leading up to our breakup, Eric's determined ardor was oddly refreshing. Of course, I knew nothing would happen between us. As grateful as I was for the driveway, and as genuinely fond of him I was becoming, I drew a solid, double line at casual sex.

"Okay, Eric," I shut and locked the window and walked around to my preferred side of the bed. Chilled, I noticed my nipples were expressing their displeasure at the cold winter air. Not good. I practically dove into my bed. Pulling the covers up tightly around me, I sat leaning against my pillows. "I've got three rules. You leave your boots on. You lie on top of the covers. You keep your hands to yourself. You break any of those rules and I'll rescind my invitation so fast your head will spin."

Eric just grinned at me.

"Sookie, I admire your spirit."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I waved my hand dismissively. "My spirit. My girls. Whatever."

That sure as sugar got Eric's attention.

"Your 'girls'?" he asked.

Uh-oh. I didn't reply, hoping he'd just forget about it. Ignoring him, I concentrated on fluffing my pillows like they'd never been fluffed before. Eric's question hung in the air. Finally turning back to him, I looked at him expectantly, letting him know I was waiting for him to explain his visit.

It didn't work. You couldn't tell Eric anything and you were certainly wasting your time if you hoped he might forget something you wanted him to forget.

"Your 'girls'?" he repeated.

Dammit.

"Yes, yes! You've been staring at my breasts nonstop since you got here! It's like you're here to talk to them, not me!"

Eric fell silent before speaking again.

"Hmmm, Sookie. I do recall being quite enamored with your 'girls' as you call them when I had the good fortune of making their past acquaintance," he nodded thoughtfully. Yeah, apparently we were actually having this conversation. "I would, however, point out that a great deal of their attraction stems from the fact that they have such a lovely mistress."

My eyes widened at his compliment.

"Um, thank you. I guess."

Feeling slightly disarmed, I watched wordlessly as Eric shucked off his boots and made himself comfortable on the bed next to me. Leaning back, he propped himself up on my pillows, his fingers interlocked behind his head.

So much for my rules. I figured, of the three, the boots one I could let slide. The other two were the important ones.

We silently regarded each other. Mindful of the growing silence, it seemed as good a time as any for my thank you.

"Eric," I shifted so my entire body faced him. "I wanted to thank you again for the driveway."

"Think nothing of it," he replied easily, smiling.

"No, I do think something of it." I glanced down at my bedspread. My fingers played with an unraveling thread. "You didn't have to do that, you know? It was a nice thing. I appreciate it." My eyes met his. "So thank you."

Eric regarded me silently. He opened his mouth and then closed it.

"You missed work and income. You were inconvenienced. Not to mention harmed." His eyes blazed momentarily. He seemed to have more he wanted to say on _that_, but thankfully left it for another time. "We had no payment agreement in place. It was an appropriate recompense. I am sorry I did not think of it earlier."

Although I didn't know Eric real well—I'd only met him the summer before—I was clued into the fact that whenever he was pondering something serious, or was upset, he tended to lose his contractions a bit.

For my own peace of mind, I preferred Comfortable-with-Contractions Eric. It coincided with the Eric I was most familiar with: Jovial Eric. Jovial Eric was the one who enjoyed making me uncomfortable with his sexual entendres and ribald comments. Serious Eric was more of a stranger to me.

From the look I was getting, I could tell that Serious Eric wanted me as much as Jovial Eric did. I didn't know what to make of that.

I continued to lie there waiting for him to speak. As the tension in the room grew, so did the tension in my body. I wasn't immune to Eric's charms. I hadn't had sex in more than a month. I hadn't had good sex in nearly two months. Although I'd experienced much longer dry spells, my breakup with Bill meant going cold turkey on sex after having intense vampire sex regularly for months. Vampire sex was the height of erotica, made sublime with tiny sips of vampire blood that had a hallucinogenic effect on humans. Vampire sex withdrawal wasn't exactly something a cold shower could remedy.

Since I had had some of Eric's blood, he could sense my feelings. If I felt arousal, he'd know. Knowing him to be an opportunist, I figured he'd be quick to move in if he perceived a chink in my armor. Rather than dwell on these matters, I thought getting down to business was a good idea.

"So what's going on, Eric?"

"We seem to have some troubles in Shreveport."

"You always have troubles in Shreveport. Can you give me something more specific to go on?"

Eric's demeanor was cool, but I detected a heat resonating from his eyes. I averted my gaze and stared across the room at my softball trophies.

"There have been two mysterious final deaths at the El Dorado."

"The El Dorado? On Clyde Fant Parkway?"

"You are familiar with it?"

"Yeah. Kind of. I've never been there. My cousin Hadley—when she still lived in the area—it was one of her favorite haunts."

"Your cousin is a gambling woman?"

His remark came out sounding more like a statement than a question. Calling Hadley a gambling woman could make the Top Ten list of all-time understatements. As far as taking risks, Hadley embraced them all. Including drugs and maybe even prostitution. I didn't know how to respond other than with a shrug of my shoulders.

Eric seemed pensive at my words. Thankfully, he decided against pursuing this line of questioning.

"So, Eric," I yawned. Might as well let him know he was putting a dent in my beauty sleep. "I'd offer my condolences, but I've been around you all enough to know grief's probably not part of the equation. So what's the problem?"

"Ah, Sookie. Down to brass tacks?"

Eric grinned but it didn't quite reach his eyes. I don't think he regarded my penchant for cutting to the chase as an admirable trait just then.

Well, heck, it was past my bedtime.

"Yep. Always."

He nodded. Again, I wasn't sure if he was indicating his approval or some other feeling entirely.

"Very well. The mysterious deaths threaten existing plans to promote business development—tourism, the film industry—in Shreveport." He paused, his eyes inscrutable. "There are a number of well-heeled investors who would be very put out if their investment in the region proves a losing proposition."

That was more like it. It came down to business and money. This I understood. Vampires didn't seem to do the family thing, but they did like to build their empires. Unbidden, a cold thought started to form in my mind. Staring at Eric, I could almost feel my brain pulse as the idea took shape.

"Eric, it'll come down to you, won't it? If these investors lose their money because of vamp murders in Area Five, they'll blame you, won't they? Because you're the Sheriff?"

Eric nodded slowly.

"Your depths of perception never fail, Sookie." He smiled at me proudly. "You would make a good vampire."

This wasn't the first time Eric had made that observation. A different woman might've run for the hills. But I took it, instead, as a compliment. I didn't hear it as a threat or as Eric verbalizing some kind of 'future-vampires-to-make list.' Despite this, I didn't want him to think the idea sounded Hunky Dory to me. Although I could see some positives —like fewer hospital visits and doctor bills, for instance— I'd ultimately decided it held little appeal for me.

"No, I wouldn't," I vehemently shook my head. "I'd be grumpy because I'd miss food, the sun, and my tan."

Eric snorted at that. The sound of his laughter distracted me from my worry.

"Sookie, you would adapt, as we all do," he grinned. "Trade the sun for the moon and stars."

"Uh-huh, not me," I shook my head, smiling back at him. "I like what I have, which is everything."

"Greedy..." he laughed.

"Yeah, guess so," I giggled.

Eric had stopped laughing and was watching me. He must've been pleased about something. His fangs had run out.

"So, Sookie," his eyes continued to take me in as he spoke. "My predicament concerns you?"

Well, well, well. I stared at my trophies as I considered the question. As a general principle, I wasn't in favor of people I knew meeting violent deaths. Even folks who were technically already dead. I did have less use for some folks than others. I kept a running tally of people I'd be willing to share a lifeboat with and those I wouldn't. That's not an unusual hobby, is it? Everyone has standards. Oddly enough, despite the strange turn my life had taken over the past year, I'd never extended my little lifeboat game to include the vamps in my life.

Would I let Eric in my lifeboat?

Glancing at Eric, my eyes locked onto his. As impenetrable as Eric's sapphire-blue eyes were, I still felt they somehow managed to reflect the depths of what he'd witnessed over his long history. I felt a tightness rise up in my chest. Suddenly I couldn't speak. I nodded an affirmation to his question.

Eric brought his arms down from behind his head, encircling me with his left arm. Heavy like a dental x-ray apron, I felt comfortable in his hold. His fangs retracted, he nuzzled my temple. I felt his lips travel down the side of my face. Letting my exhaustion waft over me in waves, I leaned into his shoulder, basking in this feeling of safety and warmth.

Then I realized I was getting way too comfortable. I quickly jerked my head up. I must've caught Eric off-guard since my head banged into his cheek.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm fine."

It was getting close to midnight. I had to get on with it. At the rate we were going, if I didn't get him back on track, I would wind up having sex with Eric. I pulled away and his arm returned to his side of the bed.

"Okay. So someone's killing vampires at the El Dorado. That place is so fancy and modern. Aren't there security cameras?"

As I heard my own voice, I figured there had to be a reason why the security cameras weren't doing the trick. Eric was pretty good about using available resources. It wasn't like it was something he'd overlook.

"There are two problems. First, they know where the cameras are—even the hidden ones. Disguised, they make sure they are not captured on film in a way that allows for identification."

Eric was staring straight ahead as he spoke. He was absently running a finger along the seams of my bedspread.

"It sounds like it's an inside job. They know how to avoid stuff."

Eric nodded briskly before continuing with his narrative.

"The second problem," he paused rather ominously, "is that at least one vampire appears to be involved."

My eyebrows shot up. A human serial killer bringing final death to vampires was not unheard of. I —along with Eric and Bill—had had a run-in or two with the Fellowship of the Sun, an extremist hate-fomenting group that masqueraded as a church but had actually been responsible for countless vampire —and human— deaths. Encouraging zealots to attack vamps and vamp sympathizers was all in a day's work for the Fellowship's human members.

But vampires regard vampire existence as sacred. Sure, I've seen them kill each other for cause, but I couldn't figure any of them would be so twisted to just take out other vamps for no reason. (Eric killed his business partner Long Shadow for stealing from him. I can't really judge Eric for bucking the system since Long Shadow was in the process of trying to kill me at the time.)

Thinking on what Eric told me so far about the deaths, my brain started to piece together questions. I glanced over at Eric who was nonchalantly examining his fingernails.

"Why can't you glamour the staff?"

"There are a lot of staff, Sookie. Besides, since there's a vampire involved, the humans involved—"

"may already be glamoured." I finished for him. Although glamoured humans present a challenge to my mind-reading ability, I still might be able to pull potentially helpful clues.

Thinking on it, I realized there was more I needed to know.

"What exactly do you want me to do?"

Eric finally decided his fingernails were less fascinating than my words and fixed his gaze on me.

"I want you to use your gift."

Since it seemed to me that he was being purposely obtuse (a really fitting Word of the Day), I was starting to get a bit irritated.

"My superior waitressing ability?" I replied blandly. Two can play the obtuse game. I knew he needed me to read minds. I just needed the particulars.

"No. Your other gift."

"Dammit, Eric! How? How do you want me to use my gift? What do you want me to do?"

"We need for you to get a job at the hotel. With your qualifications," he smiled reassuringly, "you should have no difficulty getting hired. Especially if the shifter," Eric spit this word out, "cooperates and gives you glowing references."

"Uh-huh." I couldn't even begin to speculate why Eric thought my boss, Sam, would agree to help me ensnare myself in a new vampire drama. But I figured I'd just let it go for the moment.

"I have influence," Eric went on, "but I want my role to be low key."

"Uh-huh," I nodded. "Once I'm working there, you want me to just listen in? It's kind of tough, to do it that way. Just casting a wide net, like that. Are there any other ways to do it?"

"Well, there is a special event on Saturday." Eric paused and I waited. "It's a ball celebrating the reopening of the casino which was closed for several months undergoing renovations."

Not sure what my response was supposed to be, I remained silent.

"It will be widely attended by the supernatural community. We believe this event is likely to be targeted. There is a special events company, E(E)E, that has been contracted to organize the event. They are already onsite and will be onsite through Sunday. Anything having to do with the event will be cleared through their head man, John Quinn. In your role as events liaison, you will work side by side with Quinn. In this way, you will be able to read the minds of the E(E)E staff as well as their contractors."

I chewed on that. It actually seemed like a good idea. It sounded like the ball was a likely target. That being the case, hanging around with this Quinn guy while everyone involved coordinated stuff with him seemed a good way to keep on top of things.

"What about chain of command?"

Eric quirked an eyebrow at my question.

"I mean not every single person is likely to report to this guy. The low folks on the totem pole probably don't even know what he looks like."

Eric gave me a look that somehow managed to combine admiration for my intellect, desire for my body, and hunger for my blood. I pushed down a shiver.

"Everyone will have a photo ID. I will get you an organizational chart. Although you are correct—not everyone may have cause to approach Quinn—you will have no problems insinuating yourself wherever you feel you need to. You will be outside the chain of command. You don't work for Quinn. You work for the hotel."

"You're talking like it's a done deal that I'll get the job." Recalling past conversations with Alcide Herveaux, an acquaintance whose father lost a lot of money to a Shreveport casino and wound up owing Eric a big favor, the proverbial poker chips started to fall into place. "Eric, do you own the El Dorado?"

Ah-hah. His face gave nothing away, but I could tell by his hesitation he wasn't giving me the full story when he finally did answer.

"No." It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. "Not exactly," he amended his reply.

I sighed. Sometimes dealing with vampires was just exhausting.

"Eric, do you or don't you? Not sure how it's anything other than a 'yes/no' question."

"Sookie, I am a part owner of the hotel. The official owner is an LLP that has many partners."

"Oh," I thought I was catching on. Might be best not to know all the details. "I don't need to know—"

"You don't need to know—" Eric's thoughts mirrored my own.

"Alrighty, then." A little perturbed by the look he was throwing my way, it seemed best to get back on topic. "What do I do?"

All of a sudden, Eric smiled.

"Sookie, don't you want to know the fee I'm going to offer you?"

Oh, yeah. That. Bill had dealt with the financial side of things. When I'd negotiated with Eric in the past, my terms had more or less been limited to "don't kill me/Bill/anyone I love/other humans." At the rate I was going doing my own negotiations, I might make it to heaven but I'd certainly never make it to retirement.

"How much?"

"How much would you like?"

I frowned. I hated this kind of thing. I had no idea what was fair. I did, however, know how much the gravel driveway cost.

"How about $3,000 for a week?"

"How about $1,000 a day, prorated so that we cover income taxes?"

My eyes widened. That seemed very very generous. Too generous? Was there more to this than I was catching on to? If the idea of accepting pricey gifts from Bill—my boyfriend at the time—had made me uneasy, the idea of accepting gifts from Eric—who held no such status—was unfathomable.

"Eric, that's too much. I can't accept that."

Eric's look was one of frustrated bemusement.

"Sookie, do you have any idea what the hourly rate is for a telepath?"

Was this a trick question?

"No."

"How about a private investigator? A human resources specialist? An events coordinator?"

Um. No. No. And no. I guess I could see where he was going with this.

"If you knew all this, you'd likely tell me this day rate is inadequate—"

"No, Eric! I highly doubt that!"

"Sookie, I regard myself as a fair employer. In the past, our dealings have not been direct, as we worked within the parameters established by," Eric paused and I could tell he was battling the desire to use harsher words, "our esteemed Area Investigator."

"Uh, yeah."

"Well, I want to be fair with you. I want to be more than fair with you."

Well, if that was his goal, I'd say he met it in spades.

"Eric, I don't want more than—"

"Sookie, please allow me to pay you your worth. To perform the duties being asked of you it would literally be three or four individuals. That is, of course, ignoring the fact that there aren't any other telepaths." Eric snickered. "You are unique. You could set your own price and I'd have no choice but to pay it."

Hmmm. Somehow I doubted that.

"What if I asked for $1,500?"

"Done." I felt my jaw drop. "Are we settled then?" he asked.

I had to force myself to speak.

"Yeah, we're good."

"So, I will have my attorney draw up a contract for $1,500 daily for the next two weeks."

"Wait! That's too much! I was just testing you!"

"Did I pass?" Although his words were joking, Eric's blue eyes were fastened on mine in a serious way.

"Uh, I guess." I really didn't want to get in over my head. Eric paying me a ridiculous sum of money for a few days work put me on alert that I was probably getting in over my head.

Without warning, Eric sat up and turned to face me.

"Now, as for next steps." He dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a shiny red cell phone. "This is yours."

"I can't accept that."

"It's your work phone. If Pam or I need to get in touch with you in an emergency, we will call you. Though you will likely be assigned a phone, you will be on your feet at the hotel."

Okey dokey. I stared at the phone. It was pretty. I popped it open and clicked on my contacts. Sure enough Eric, Pam, Fangtasia and someone named Bobby Burnham were preprogrammed.

"Don't lose it."

"No, of course not!"

"Tomorrow you are to tell the shifter you are taking a leave for two weeks. Possibly longer."

"Sam's not going to like that."

"Sookie, do I care what your shifter boss likes? Need I remind you he seemed to like the company of the harridan, Callisto?"

Leave it to Eric to remember that. Harsh, but true. Callisto was a maenad. She was mean and crazy and she poisoned me. All this didn't stop Sam from screwing around with her in the woods. Aside from an on-again-off-again crush on yours truly, Sam didn't seem to have very good taste in women.

I shrugged.

"Tell him to get in touch with me if he has difficulty filling your position." An evil smirk appeared on Eric's face and I braced myself for his next words. "We have a wide array of _disgusting creatures_ on staff at Fangtasia. Given the shifter's preferences, perhaps, in addition to filling a barmaid position, a love match may be made."

Startled, I bit back a snort of laughter. Although deep down I may have agreed with Eric, I felt obligated to show loyalty to Sam. So I glared at Eric.

Suddenly Eric was sitting over the edge of the bed putting his boots back on.

"Now, tomorrow night you are to come to Fangtasia. Can you be there for eight?"

Slightly in shock that Eric was now standing with his jacket and boots on looking like he was ready to leave, I nodded my head.

"I will have the contract ready for you to sign. Pam may call you earlier in the day to discuss other work-related matters." His eyes took on a glazed look as he lost himself in contemplation. "One thing we need to decide is whether or not it is safe for you to use your own name." Eric's eyes sought mine. "We may even want to disguise you."

"What? Why?"

"My Sookie, you are known throughout Dallas and Jackson as a telepath. The casino attracts supes from all over. I know that none of our friends from Dallas or Jackson have made reservations at the hotel, and, while it seems unlikely that they will come, I cannot say for certain that this is the case." Eric paused and stared at me so intently I felt my face blush. "I've half a mind to put you in glasses and burlap to mask—" His words died on his lips.

"What? Mask what, Eric?"

"You're a beautiful woman, Sookie. We are trying to contain trouble. Not court more."

Wow. Eric was full of compliments.

"I will think on this and let you know tomorrow night. When you speak to the shifter, mention that there is a chance you will be using an alias. He will need to respond accordingly when the hotel manager calls to check your references."

Thinking on everything, my mind kind of went blank for a spell. I came back to hear Eric's voice calling me. I jerked my head up to meet his gaze. His blue eyes were focused on me. I detected a slight smile around the corners of his mouth.

"Sookie? Yes? No?"

Uh-oh. I had absolutely no idea what he had just asked me. Yes? No? I had a fifty-fifty chance of answering correctly. Putting my Crazy Sookie smile on, I replied.

"Yes."

"So you are prepared to yield to me, then?"

"What? No! No! No!"

Eric laughed. "I actually asked if you wanted me to leave using the front door rather than your bedroom window."

I laughed then, too.

"Uh, yeah. Door would be good."

"I thought so." Eric opened my bedroom door and started to walk out.

"Hey," I called out. "I'll walk you out." I climbed out of bed, quickly donned my robe and slippers, and followed Eric down the hallway.

At the front door, we stood facing each other. Oddly, it occurred to me that for any other two people, or individuals, it looked like two lovers saying good night at the end of a date.

"Sookie—" Eric brought his hand up to my cheek. He pushed several strands of hair away from my eyes. "Am I being rescinded?"

Not sure what I was expecting him to say, I certainly wasn't expecting that. I smiled.

"You were actually pretty well-behaved tonight. I think you're good."

"_I'm more than good_, Miss Stackhouse." He winked.

I felt my face blush as I heard him laugh. Unexpectedly he leaned down and gently caressed my lips with his own. Lost in the sweet fire of his surprise kiss, I found myself still staring at the empty porch long after he'd gone.

* * *

**AN: I really loved 'Club Dead.' Of course, I'm no Charlaine Harris, but I thought, 'hm, wouldn't it be nice to recapture 'Club Dead'?**


	3. Eric Wants Red

**Disclaimer: Characters and setting belong to Charlaine Harris. I just decided to play 'What If?' with them.**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: The glorious period during which Bill was seeking nirvana at Machu Picchu in Peru.**

* * *

Tired from a restless sleep, I had to hustle the next day to make it in to work on time. After a quick greeting to my friend Arlene—the third waitress, Charlsie, wasn't scheduled to arrive for another hour —I forced myself to function on autopilot. It didn't help that my mind was refusing to cooperate, as it seemed fixated on memories of sapphire blue eyes and surprisingly warm lips. My thoughts were so scattershot as I multi-tasked—filling ketchup bottles, cutting lemons, filling napkin dispensers—I figured it would be a miracle if no one squirted a lemon peel onto their burger later.

Merlotte's Bar and Grill wasn't anything special—beer on tap, a few house wines, and the usual as far as bar food—but to me, it was special. Being a barmaid at Merlotte's was the best job as well as the longest job I'd ever had. After four years, I regarded my boss, Sam Merlotte, as a friend. Albeit, a friend with really questionable taste in women at times.

Since I considered Sam a friend, I was having a hard time coming up with a way to ask him for time off. Although it wouldn't be the first time I'd asked for time off to do "vamp" stuff, it would be the first time I'd be making the request since my breakup with Bill. While I'd wisely kept my New Year's Resolution of "living vamp free" mostly to myself, I knew I'd mentioned it to Sam at least once. I wasn't looking forward to seeing the disappointment in his eyes.

As anxious I was to get my conversation with Sam over with, I had to admit I was slightly relieved when he'd closeted himself in his office to do paperwork.

Taking the opportunity to mentally rehearse how I'd ask for the time off, I came to the unhappy conclusion that it didn't matter. Every way I practiced even made me snicker. It was just not humanly possible for me to request time off so that I could play junior detective to the Area Five Vampire Sheriff and not have it sound totally ridiculous.

Ridiculous it was, too. In the light of day, I found myself not altogether pleased with my situation. To be honest, I wasn't even sure how I'd managed to get myself caught up in vampire shit again. I could only surmise that it was a combination of impenetrable blue eyes, some unnamed fear I didn't care to speculate on, and a general concern that innocent people might be hurt or killed—if I didn't help.

Caught up in my internal debates, I mindlessly wiped down the bar and the tables until all the wood shone like a commercial for furniture polish. Finally, a little before the lunch crowd was due to arrive, I was pulled out of my mental fog by the sound of someone calling my name. I looked up. It was Sam.

"Hey, Sook," he smiled at me. "You had something you wanted to talk about?"

Sam Merlotte was wiry but strong, with a halo of sandy hair. In his 30s, he'd bought the bar about five years earlier when he settled in Bon Temps. Although I knew he'd done a stint in the military and his family was in Texas, I didn't really know much about Sam's life before he moved to town. Sam didn't talk much about his past and I tried not to delve into his thoughts. I knew Sam had an on-again, off-again thing for me and I didn't want to go there. I really enjoyed my job and it seemed like getting involved with the boss was a surefire way to turn a good work situation into a bad one.

Another interesting thing about Sam was the fact that, when the moon was full, he could shift into any warm-blooded animal on the planet. Sam's preferred shift was into a collie. He'd come by my house plenty of times in his collie form and I'd feed him scraps. Once I'd inadvertently let Sam sleep with me on my bed while in his collie form. I woke up with human Sam lying across my bed wearing nothing but his birthday suit.

Looking up into Sam's clear blue eyes, I struggled with dread. I knew he wouldn't be happy once I told him why I needed time off.

"Sam, I need some time off. Two weeks, though I might be able to come back sooner."

His eyes widened. I could tell he was surprised.

"Aw, Sook. What're you doing?" Thoughtful, he paused before continuing. "Are you meeting up with Bill in Peru?" His eyes must have taken in my look of astonishment at his suggestion as he quickly switched gears. "When?"

Inwardly I braced myself. I knew this detail would be unwelcome.

"Starting tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Realizing how loud his voice was, he steadied himself and brought it down a notch. "Cher, you know anything for you but you're not exactly making this easy. It's not fair to Arlene and Charlsie. I have to think of them, too."

At the sound of her name, my co-worker Arlene appeared. Bless her eavesdropping heart.

"Hey, Sam. What's going on?" Arlene's deep auburn curls—Clairol Herbal Essences Deep Red—bounced as her head shot back and forth between me and Sam. "If Sook needs to take some time off, I'm okay with that. I could use some more hours and tips, as long as it's not late night and I can have Coby and Lisa hang out in a booth."

Coby and Lisa were her kids. Despite Arlene having been married four times—including once to a serial killer—she was a surprisingly good mom. I'd babysat her kids plenty of times and was awed by how polite and good-natured they were. Better than a lot of the adults I knew.

I felt Arlene was showing where they got it from right at that instant. Pleasantly surprised by her unwitting support, I forged on.

"Yeah, and Sam, Holly Cleary's little boy is getting older. She said she'd like more hours. She'd probably cover some hours." I hesitated. What I was going to say next would pretty much open a can of worms that might be better off closed. "Besides, there's an offer of help from another bar. If you have trouble filling my shifts."

Sam's eyes blazed into mine at that last comment. I could practically see the wheels turning as he sought to piece it all together.

"Fine," he said in a curt tone. He turned to Arlene. "Not sure you caught all of that but she'll be out starting tomorrow."

Arlene nodded.

"I've got ears, Sam Merlotte." It wouldn't occur to Arlene that she'd been listening in on a private conversation. "What're you up to, Sook? A little vacation?"

I could always make up an excuse to feed Arlene. Although we were friends, I knew she was cool on vampires. But Sam was watching me expectantly. Besides I needed him to cover for me and give me a glowing recommendation when the person from the hotel called to check up on my qualifications.

"Not exactly," I shook my head. "I've got to take care of some stuff for a bit that's going to have me busy." I figured that was the truth even if it wasn't very detailed.

"What's got Sam all riled up?" Arlene was oblivious to some of the niceties of polite society. Like the Miss Manners' rule that it was poor etiquette to talk about someone right in front of his or her face.

"I think Sook's glossing over a few details." Apparently Sam could be oblivious to that one, too.

"Sam," I met his eyes. "I appreciate your concern, but I can handle my own affairs."

"What?" Arlene could be slow on the uptake sometimes and sharp as nails at other times. This was one of those other times. "Sookie Stackhouse, you're not taking time off from your decent job working with decent, God-fearing folk to spend time with vamps, are you?" Her tone went from curious to critical in five seconds flat. If humans had special talents like vampires, zero-to-sixty mood swings would be Arlene's.

I didn't say a word. Slanting her eyes at me, Arlene took my silence and the grim look on Sam's face as confirmation.

"Sookie, your gran would be shocked out of her skin if she was still alive to see the way you carry on with those dead things—"

Arlene's ex-husband and fiancé, the serial killer, was the one who had murdered my grandmother. Her callous selection of metaphors was, like a lot of things about Arlene, unfortunate. Beaten and strangled, my grandmother had also been cut with a knife.

"Arlene, you have no idea what my gran would've said or done! Don't you dare put words in her mouth! No one is more accepting and tolerant of people being different than Adele Stackhouse! Believe me, I know!"

Put out at my raising my voice, Arlene stomped off, leaving Sam and me alone.

Sam shook his head. "You shouldn't get into it with Arlene."

"Sam!" Although I never questioned his friendship, I thought Sam sometimes fell on the wrong side of the fence when it came to me. "You heard her! I can't have her attacking gran's character. My gran," I paused and took a breath. Recalling gran still affected me. "My gran was totally accepting of Bill and she understood completely what he was. What they are."

Sam hadn't moved his eyes away from my face. I felt a tear running down my cheek and swiped at it with my fingers.

"Your gran didn't see you get hurt because of them, time and time again. And not all vamps are Bill Compton. Eric Northman—"

I did not want to discuss Eric with Sam.

"I don't want to hear this lecture from you Sam. Not your place to tell me who I can spend my time with." Unbidden, an image of Callisto appeared in my mind's eye. "None of the folks I choose to spend time with has ever purposely hurt a friend of mine. Can you say the same?"

Silence. Sam's face took on this rueful look whenever the maenad came up in conversation. Good, I thought.

"Sam, I need to talk to you some more about this, but we should talk in your office. Later. At the end of my shift."

"Sure, cher," Sam nodded. I could tell he felt properly chastised. I felt a little guilty for throwing the maenad in his face, but remembering the white-hot pain of her claw scratches on my back and the deadening of my senses as the poison took over my body strengthened my resolve.

If Sam wanted to get all high-and-mighty about how my knowing vamps put me in danger a couple of times, he'd do well to remember that it was his lady-love who actually nearly killed me.

ooOOOoo

After my run-in with Sam and Arlene, I got lost in the busyness of the afternoon. My friend Tara came in with a striking supernatural creature. A very tall woman—maybe 6 feet tall—with cascading dark hair and brown eyes. She was a sight in a bright orange pantsuit. I didn't know what she was but I could tell from her brain pattern that she wasn't human. My all-too-human friend Tara was much more toned down, wearing a pair of neutral fitted slacks and a burgundy sweater. I was pretty sure Tara had no clue of the woman's otherness. Tara had had glimpses of the supernatural world but usually there was someone around to glamour her memories away at the end of the evening. Tara and her lunch companion sat in Arlene's section so all I could do was smile, wave, and gesture that I'd stop by if I had a chance.

I lost track of time again and was settling up with Andy and Portia Bellefleur who had stopped in for an early dinner. Andy was a stocky but muscular detective on the Bon Temps police force, while his nearly equally thickset sister Portia was a lawyer. The Bellefleurs had been one of the original founding families in the town and I could trace my own history with them back more than twenty years. We went to school together.

"Well, it was good seeing you all." I didn't really care much for the Bellefleur siblings—Andy's predominant character trait was 'judgmental,' while his sister gravitated towards 'stuck-up'— but no one was going to say Adele Stackhouse didn't raise me right. "I'll take care of your check when you're ready." Feeling an unfamiliar sensation in my pants' pocket, I plastered my Crazy Sookie smile on my face as I laid their check on the table. I made a motion to walk away when the sound of Andy's voice stopped me.

"Hey," Andy was staring at me. "You hear from that boyfriend of yours?"

At Andy's mentioning Bill, I instinctively glanced over at Portia, who had suddenly busied herself examining the contents of her handbag. Last year, at Portia's behest, I had used my gift to clear Andy of murdering Merlotte's cook, Lafayette. Before enlisting my help, Portia had gone undercover by insinuating herself into Bill's life. After that charade, Bill had found out that the Bellefleurs were his direct descendants and had arranged for them to "inherit" some money. I was aware of the family ties. The Bellefleurs were not. Andy showing an interest in me was mildly odd, but then Andy was one of the few non-friends who knew what I could do. I decided to dip into his brain for a second.

Andy was actually thinking I seemed to be acting a little stranger than usual and was wondering if I was up to something. Shocked, I glared at him. Realizing he'd been found out, his square face darkened to a shade of red.

Nodding stiffly at Andy and Portia, I pulled back, and, after a quick once-over at my other tables, I ducked into the ladies room. Taking out my cell phone, I played with the keypad until I figured out how to retrieve my voicemail. I looked at the call log. Pam. I hit play on her message.

Sookie, it is good that you will be working with us once more. Eric was (pause) most displeased by his rescinded status. He is not one to easily keep company with Bill Compton. (pause) You must call me back immediately. Eric has decided you need an alias. We also must get you an appropriate wardrobe.

Click.

Vampires are not one for saying goodbye.

Aside from a soul-searing kiss here and there.

I hit the key to call Pam back and waited.

"Sookie, what is your height and weight? Do not be bashful. It is not for my own amusement that I ask. If I were to question you for my own amusement I would ask your cup size."

Geez Louise, I've had some interesting greetings from Pam, but this was on a whole new level.

"Uh, hi Pam. I'm 5'6," I scrunched up my face. It's not like I weighed myself often. I decided to guess. "I'm about 130." Maybe. "135 pounds."

"Yes, you are quite voluptuous," Pam replied with something that sounded like admiration.

Internally I cringed. Pam was kind of like a friend. But she was kind of like a friend who had little sense of personal boundaries.

"Pam, I'd really rather not discuss that with you."

"Yes, fine. Keep your secrets. You are a size eight, yes? What name would you like for your alias? I was prepared to name you Abby Landers but Eric said I should pose the question to you as you will need to respond to being addressed."

Hmmm, I could just pick out my own name. Interesting.

"Pam, are you getting me a new drivers license?"

"Yes. You will need photo identification to show Marnie."

"Marnie? Who's Marnie?"

"Marnie is the hotel manager you will be interviewing with tomorrow."

Oh.

"Sookie? So do you have a preferred name?"

Although I had used an alias once before —while working undercover in Dallas—the guy I was working undercover with picked out the name, Marigold. I'd never selected my own alias before. Funny the things that makes a person excited, huh?

"Would it be a problem if I used Hale? It's a family name."

"You must steer clear of surnames that connect you to your real identity."

I guess Pam knew her stuff when it came to picking out false identities.

"Could I use Michele as a first name?"

"I suppose Michele is a common enough name," Pam paused. "Michele Landers then."

I had been toying with Michele O'Hara but Pam seemed to have her heart set on naming me after her advice column mentors.

"Alrighty then."

"We are also dying your hair. " What? Really? "Eric is regretful but he is concerned about your true identity being discovered."

"Whoa there, Pam! I've never colored my hair. It's never even been permed. I can count the number of times I've been to a salon on one hand. My hair's healthy—"

"And how healthy will it remain if the rest of you is dead?"

Pam certainly had a way with words.

"Fine. I get to pick the color I assume?"

"No. Eric gets to pick."

"_What_?" I could see Eric making the safety decisions, but once the decision was made that my hair had to be colored, what could it possibly matter to him if I decided on the color? That was the epitome of high-handed.

"Eric is already distressed that it must be done." She paused. "He likes the shade of your hair. I think it is his narcissistic side displaying itself as your hair color is nearly indistinguishable from his own."

Oh.

"In any case, Eric wants red—"

"Red?"

"Do not sound so appalled. I will match it to your skin tone and it will be a deep or burgundy shade, not a garish carrot shade."

"Oh." I was realizing again that this whole thing might be a bit more than I had bargained for. "Wait! You're going to do it, Pam?"

"As for your eyes—"

"My eyes?"

"Yes. We are undecided—"

"About my eyes?"

"Yes. Approximately 10% of the United States population has blue eyes. I think we are safe without colored lenses but Eric is unconvinced."

"What?" I had perfect —well, okay—eyesight. I'd never worn contacts or eyeglasses. "Eric thinks I need to wear fake contacts?"

"Yes."

"What if I don't want to?"

Pam paused.

"He is your boss. You must speak to him."

Terrific. How my going undercover turned into me becoming Eric and Pam's personal life-size Barbie doll, I had no idea.

Pam waited for me to speak. I tightened my lips for good measure. She caught on and continued.

"When you arrive at Fangtasia tonight, we must prepare a resume to fax to Marnie. Inform the shifter that he is your reference."

I grumbled something unintelligible.

"Does the shifter have a fax machine? I would like to fax you the job description so you may familiarize yourself with the duties you are to perform."

"Uh, yeah. You want me to give you the number?

"Text it to me after we hang up."

"Oh, okay." Coming out of my funk, I replayed our conversation in my mind. "Pam, is that it? Do I need to bring anything?"

"Just yourself, my telepathic friend. Eric and I will take care of everything."

"How late will I be out?"

"Worried no one will tuck you into bed?"

"Pam, I function on human hours. I'm not in the habit of being up all night."

"Most humans are not in the habit of being _up all night_."

I shook my head. I could hear by her inflection, Pam's comment was loaded. Pam was Eric's child, all right.

"Yes, well, I'm one of them. So I need to get home at a decent hour."

"Do not worry, Sookie. I'm quite certain Eric will see you home and ensure your," she paused, "_decency_ remains intact."

Hmmm, yeah right.

"Well, okay, Pam. I need to get back to work."

"See you shortly, Sookie."

"Yep, bye Pam."

Click.

I shut my phone and stole a moment to just stand there silently. Remembering my promise to Pam, I texted Sam's fax number to her before going back out to finish my shift.

ooOOOoo

An hour later, there was a lull in the action. With the bar quiet, Sam gestured for me to follow him back to his office.

Pulling the office door shut behind me, I sat in the chair across from Sam's desk. We silently regarded each other. Although I had stuff to tell him, I got the sense that Sam had something he wanted to say. So I waited expectantly. Hands behind his head, Sam leaned back in his chair.

"Sook, you know I care about you. Right?"

"Of course, Sam," I smiled nervously. "I know that."

"And if I give you unsolicited advice, it's because I care." He dropped his hands and leaned forward in his seat. His eyes locked onto mine. "You know that, right?"

I should have known it was coming, but still I felt a bit blindsided. I sighed.

"Yeah, Sam. I know it's because you care."

"Well, I just want to point out that when you've done business with them in the past, it's been dangerous. You've gotten hurt. I care about you too much to let you put yourself in danger."

"Well, I'm going to be careful, Sam. You don't have to worry about me. I'm just going to do a little undercover investigation."

Closing his eyes, Sam let out a breath.

"For Eric?"

"Yeah."

"Where does he have you going this time?"

"Nowhere. It's local. There's been some trouble in Shreveport lately and they're hoping I may hear something that will help us figure out what's going on." The look on Sam's face wasn't as bad as I had feared it would be. "I'm supposed to get a job at the El Dorado."

"The El Dorado? You know there's a big casino gala on Saturday?"

I nodded my head slowly.

"I know. I'm going to be working at the hotel, helping coordinate the gala."

"You know, cher," Sam ran his fingers through his hair. He tended to do that a lot when he was worried. "If there's going to be trouble at the El Dorado, it's going to be the night of the gala."

I just watched Sam. It didn't seem like a response was necessary.

"I assume you're going to be there in the middle of this danger?"

I kept my face composed but I couldn't help but recognize Sam brought up a valid question.

Eric hadn't said anything about my going to the ball on Saturday but it certainly seemed like the telepath ought to be there. I'd definitely have to be on my game. While on assignment in Dallas, I'd kind of dropped the ball by not "listening" out for the danger until it was too late. Once the Fellowship attacked with their army and their arsenal, many human and vamp existences ended that day.

"I wasn't told I was going to have to go to the ball, but it makes sense that I might."

Sam shook his head, a wry smile on his face.

"I tossed my invite to this thing. Now I'm thinking I ought to go."

"Sam, I'll be fine! I'm sure it'll be fine! Really! Eric will be there! His child Pam will be there! And if I'm there, it'll be to listen in— to make sure nothing happens. And there's going to be a ton of security!"

"Sook," Sam shook his head. Although he'd seemed placated to the idea for a brief second, he seemed to be getting agitated again. "Since when do you throw your lot in with Eric Northman?" Sam's eyes met mine. "I don't know this Pam. What makes you so sure they're going to look out for you?" His voice was rising. "Heck, Sook, that's crazy. If I know one thing about vamps, it's that they know one thing: How to stay alive. And how do they do that? They do that by not wasting energy worrying about other folks, cher."

At some point during Sam's lecture, I'd lowered my eyes and began staring at my lap. Taking deep breaths, I reminded myself that Sam was a friend and was concerned about my well-being. Finally I brought his eyes back up to meet his.

"Sam, you know I appreciate your friendship. I ...I look up to you. I'm grateful to have you in my life. But, frankly, I'm a big girl. I've known Eric and Pam for months. I don't want to get into the details of every little thing that's happened to me over the past six months, but, so far, I've gotten plenty of ...uh...evidence that putting my trust in Eric seems to work out okay." There, that was nice enough. I probably should have let it go at that, but, my gift has made me particularly sensitive to people acting hypocritically. "I don't know if you know this, but he arranged for Dr. Ludwig to care for me when I ...uh...had my run-in with your friend." I stood up. All of a sudden, Sam's office felt stifling. I wanted to get back out to the restaurant.

"Fine, cher," Sam nodded with resignation. "I know I deserve that." Sam grabbed a paper off his desk and held it up to me. "This fax came for you. From your friend, Pam."

"Oh, thanks."

"It actually seems like a perfect job for you." His eyes bored a hole into mine. "If it's a real job, that is. I just don't want you to take any chances, Sook."

"I don't want me to, either, Sam. I won't."

"Yeah, well." Sam ran his fingers through his hair again. "Do I have a role in this? I suppose you need a reference?"

"Yeah, Sam." Good thing he thought to ask since I was ready to flee. "Uh, I'm interviewing at the hotel with the hotel manager. Her name is Marnie."

"Marnie?"

"You know her?"

"Maybe. She got a last name?"

"I don't know it. I'll know tomorrow." Smiling at my newfound technological savvy, I offered a solution. "Hey, I can text you the name tomorrow."

Sam nodded. "Good idea, Sook. Do me a favor. Program all my numbers, the police station, Sheriff Dearborn, Andy—"

My eyebrow shot up at that. Sam noticed.

"Sook, he's a cop. He's good at what he does. Just take it." Sam took out his cell phone and gestured for me to give him mine. Sitting down again, I handed my phone over and waited silently as he added the contacts into my phone. Done, he handed my phone back.

"Thanks, Sam." I stood up and started to make my way to the office door.

"No problem."

"Oh," I hoped Sam wouldn't make a big deal out of this little detail. "I'm not using my real name. Eric is concerned my name is a little familiar after the trips to Dallas and Jackson."

Thoughtful, Sam absorbed that information.

"I'm concerned that he felt that was something to worry about." Then he sighed. "But I appreciate that he seems to be taking precautions with you."

"Oh, yeah." I nodded. "Eric's totally taking precautions. Changing my hair color, too."

Sam smiled at that.

"What color?"

"Red."

"Red," Sam repeated.

"Yeah," I nodded. " I'm going there as Michele Landers—remember that for when Marnie calls."

"Why're you looking for a different job? In case she asks?"

"I was just going to say I wanted to do something different. Work in Shreveport for a change."

"What're you telling everybody here? To explain why you're not around?"

"Well, Arlene is just going to think whatever Arlene is going to think. I'll tell everyone else I'm taking a class at the community college."

"Okay." We just kind of looked at each other for a bit. Sometimes, conversations with Sam traveled into Awkward Territory.

"Thank you Sam." My hand was on the door.

"Anything for you. Just please take care of yourself."

"I will." I tried to make sure my voice radiated confidence. I'm not sure if I did that more for Sam or for myself.

Back out in the bar, I continued my shift. Since there wasn't much in the way of restaurants in Bon Temps, business in Merlotte's was usually pretty steady. Folks came in for lunch anytime between noon and three and dinner started at four-thirty. Our hardcore drinkers, like Jane Bodehouse, arrived at anytime and usually kept to themselves at the bar or at a table. I liked the fact that Merlotte's was as much a family place as it was a bar.

ooOOOoo

Nearing six-thirty, I saw several familiar faces settling in for dinner. My brother Jason's friend Hoyt Fortenberry was sitting at the bar having burgers and beer with his friend Kevin Prior, a police officer on the Bon Temps force. Their eyes were riveted to the television Sam had hanging above the bar. The local baseball team, the Shreveport-Bossier Captains, was playing against the Pensacola Pelicans.

I waved and went over to say hello.

"Hey, guys."

"Hi Sookie."

"Hey, Sook." Hoyt was the polar opposite of my brother. As much of a selfish tomcat Jase was, boyish Hoyt balanced him out in total sweetness. His friend, pale, freckled Kevin, though a cop, was awfully sweet, too.

"We're going to the Bon Temps High football game Friday night," Hoyt nodded gesturing at Kevin. "You planning on going?"

I figured I could safely say no, since I knew I was going to be working in Shreveport. Thinking quickly, it occurred to me that this might be as good a time as any to let folks know I wasn't going to be at Merlotte's for a while.

"Uh, no, Hoyt. I'm actually going to be pretty busy for the next couple of weeks. Taking off from work, too. I signed up to take a class in Shreveport. At the community college."

"Aw, Sook, that's terrific. You're so smart, I'm sure you'll ace it."

"Thanks Hoyt."

"What's the class?" Kevin was looking at me with curiosity. I don't know why it hadn't occurred to me Andy Bellefleur's right-hand man would likely interrogate me for details.

Thankfully, I looked over at the dining area at that moment and noticed Hoyt's mother, Maxine Fortenberry, and Bon Temps mayor, Sterling Norris, seat themselves at a table in my section.

"Oh, hold that thought, Kevin," which meant please forget we had this conversation. "I better go see to the mayor and Hoyt's mom." I smiled at Hoyt and Kevin. "Enjoy the rest of your dinner."

"Thanks, Sook," Hoyt smiled sweetly while Kevin just nodded.

I walked over to where Maxine Fortenberry had just sat down with Sterling Norris. Maxine and the mayor had both been long-time friends of my grandmother's. As members of Descendants of the Glorious Dead, they did a good job of keeping tradition alive even if it did focus exclusively on the dead. The group's mission was to honor and educate folks about the Civil War and the effects it had on Bon Temps residents. It had been real important to my grandmother.

"Hi Maxine," I smiled in greeting. "Mayor Norris." I placed the menus on their table.

"Hi, Sookie," Maxine smiled. "How are you, dear? I heard you'd broken up with that vamp beau of yours."

"Uh, I'm good, Maxine." I tried to smile graciously but I couldn't help but peek inside her head. Truthfully, I knew what she was thinking without doing it. Sometimes, I just wanted confirmation. She was thinking it was a good thing I wasn't dating a vamp anymore. I was cute and sweet and eventually a man would come along who could look past my being slightly crazy.

It was painful to hear—as it always was—the 'Sookie's-nice-too-bad-she's-crazy'. If I had a dollar for every time I'd plucked that thought out of someone's mind—well, I'd have a lot of money. Instead, I had a stockpile of shed and unshed tears. I wondered for maybe the 5,000th time how someone as sweet as Hoyt could come from an ungracious old cow like Maxine. My 'Crazy Sookie' smile firmly in place, pad and pen in hand, I looked at Maxine and the Mayor.

"Are you two ready to order?"

Maxine and the Mayor were both perusing the menu. Suddenly, I could hear the game was no longer on the television. Somewhere in the bar, someone said, "Turn it up, Sam." Turning around to look, I saw that Arlene and Charlsie had done the same thing.

A Special Report from the local news had interrupted the baseball game.

"I'm Matthew Harrow. Discovery of an undetonated explosive device caused the closure of Clyde Fant Parkway in Shreveport today. More than a hundred people were evacuated from the El Dorado Hotel and Casino.

"Members of Shreveport's Bomb Squad are currently working on deactivating the device. This is a live shot of a vacant lot where explosive experts have been attempting to deactivate the device."

As we stared at the television screen, suddenly an explosion sounded and the screen image filled with smoke. The cameras cut away from the scene and returned to the newscaster in the newsroom. I felt my jaw drop as it dawned on me what I just witnessed happen live on television.

The newscaster seemed stunned as he tried to recover his narration of the story.

"An undetonated explosive device was found on the sidewalk in front of the El Dorado Hotel and Casino in Shreveport just minutes ago. The Shreveport Bomb Squad was able remove the device to a vacant lot nearby." Into a microphone, he asked a question. "Did we get a location on the explosion?" Listening, he nodded and continued the story.

"This just in. The bomb squad detonated the device safely after removing it to a vacant lot on Industrial Drive." I gasped. Fangtasia was on Industrial Drive. "Here's a shot. We can see a small, contained fire burning and fire trucks arriving on the scene. It is being reported that the impact from the bomb was contained to the detonation site."

"The El Dorado's casino has been under wraps for months as it had been undergoing renovations. The grand re-opening for the casino is scheduled for this Saturday, with a black tie event to celebrate the new casino and promote business development in the city."

So intent on hearing the news broadcast, I was oblivious to the fact my cell phone buzzed until I heard a beep. Flipping the phone open, I saw I had a text from Pam.

_Eric instructed me to text you that we are okay._

Relieved, I snorted at Pam's message. Going by her choice of words, it seemed that Pam regarded the idea of them not being okay as a foreign concept.

Glancing up, I accidentally met Sam's eyes. I saw fear and worry in them. Hoping his eyes weren't merely mirroring back the emotions in my own, I did my best to give him a reassuring smile.

Turning back to face the dining area, I lowered my shields to check in with the thoughts of those around me. Most everyone was shocked about the explosion. A couple of people seemed to know the hotel was vamp-owned and one of those individuals—a non-regular sitting at the bar—thought it was 'too bad' the explosion didn't take out some vamps.

Memorizing his features, I set about finishing my shift and preparing myself for my visit to Fangtasia.

* * *

**AN: There is no Industrial Drive in Shreveport. (There is one in Bossier City.) Shreveport has an Industrial Road that is not terribly close to Clyde Fant Pkwy. For our purposes, they are in close proximity. *wink***

**My apologies for the EFC (Eric-Free Chapter). There won't be many but they will happen once in a while. For the record, my favorite line in this chapter is "No. Eric gets to pick." LMAO. Now, THAT is high-handed.**

**As always, thank you for reading. Comments welcome. Patience appreciated.**


	4. You've Got To Hide Your Love Away

**Disclaimer: Characters and setting belong to Charlaine Harris. I just decided to play 'What If?' with them.**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: The glorious period during which Bill was seeking nirvana at Machu Picchu in Peru.**

* * *

Shortly before eight I was sitting in my car in Fangtasia's parking lot. Since I hadn't had time to change, I still wore my Merlotte's uniform—a long-sleeved t-shirt and black slacks. Hopefully Eric and Pam wouldn't mind that my outfit smelled slightly of stale beer and hot wings. Bill had an extra sensitive nose and always seemed to smell everything, including if I'd hugged anyone since my last shower.

From where I sat, I could see Pam checking IDs at the door. Anxious to get started, I had one more task to do before I went inside. I knew my brother Jason would have a fit if he found out I was taking a leave from Merlotte's from someone else, so I hit his number on my cell phone.

"Hel-lo." My brother had a way of stretching out his greeting in a playful way. Even without recognizing the incoming number, his default setting was on 'flirt.'

"Jason, it's me."

"Ah, hey, Sook." His voice took on a normal tone. "What's up?"

"I've been meaning to tell you something, but I've been kind of busy." The job had only surfaced yesterday, but I figured I'd let him think it was something that had been brewing for a while.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"I'm taking a little time off from Merlotte's."

"Oh yeah? What've you got going on?"

"I took a different job. In Shreveport."

"_What?_ I thought you liked working at Merlottes's." Bless his heart, my brother sounded genuinely shocked. I felt a pang of warmth towards him. He really did understand how I felt about my job.

"Oh, I do! I love it! I just took something else to help a friend. It's temporary. I'll be coming back to Merlotte's. Sam knows."

"Uh-huh," I could practically hear the wheels turning in Jason's head. I rushed in with the story I'd concocted for him before his brain had a chance to go into overdrive.

"Thing is I didn't want to explain the whole thing —you know how folks talk. I didn't want anybody saying anything about me or making up rumors that I'd got fired or something like that. So I said I was taking time off to take a class over at the community college."

"Oh," Jason replied and then fell silent. Usually Jason's sense of self-absorption kept him from asking a lot of questions. Although, even if Jason didn't press me for more details, it had occurred to me that it might just be a good idea to tell him the truth. Wavering on my decision, his next words took me by surprise. "There any other reason you don't want folks to know the truth, Sook?"

I sighed. Nine times out of ten, my brother's skills of perception could rival those of a bathmat. Of course, this would be one of his ten percent moments.

"I'm going to be working at the El Dorado. I'll be helping out with coordinating some special events they have going on this week."

"Ah," he paused. "Why am I getting the feeling there's more to this, Sook?"

Jason must've eaten his Wheaties this morning. Or I sounded tenser than I thought.

"It's a partially vamp-owned hotel and there's some concern about all the events they have going on. I'm going to use my gift to listen in."

"Uh-huh." We fell into a pregnant pause. He seemed to be searching for the right words. "Sook, you really going to get _paid_ _for that_?" Apparently, he hadn't found them.

Until Bill walked into my life, it hadn't occurred to me that I could get paid for using my 'quirk.' A curse in more ways than one, to me, it was a constant stream of chatter—forever interfering in my life. To others, it was proof that I was crazy. Jason, of all people, ought to have an inkling of how useful my gift could be. I'd used my telepathy to uncover the truth that it was Rene Lenier who was murdering the single, sexually adventurous women of Bon Temps. This population, of course, coincided with many of Jason's former girlfriends and one-night stands making him a prime suspect in the killing spree.

"Yeah, Jase." I didn't know what else to say.

"Wow." He sounded impressed. "I'm surprised. How much they paying you?"

Leave it to Jason to go from making me feel supported to making me feel used in less time than it takes to swat a fly.

"That's none of your business."

"C'mon, Sook. How much?"

"No, Jason. None of your business."

"I need new tires for the truck—"

"And you got a job with Renard Parish that pays you fine."

He was quiet for a moment.

"All right." Thank goodness for small favors. Sometimes even Jason knew when enough was enough. "So, when're you starting your new job?"

Welcome subject change.

"I'm going over there tomorrow. I might be working tomorrow for all I know. I might start on Friday."

Jason whistled. "Who are you working for?"

I hesitated on that. I already told him I'd be working at the hotel. When I had dated Bill, I'd periodically wondered how much I ought to share with Jason about the region's vampire political hierarchy.

"It's Bill's boss and…" I struggled with how to describe Pam—I didn't want to get into explaining the whole maker-child dynamic "…his partner."

"They gay?"

I rolled my eyes. A little knowledge could be a dangerous thing with Jason. He'd obviously been listening to some news lately.

"No, Jase," I sighed. "Sometimes partner just means partner."

"Oh, sure." His thoughts had already moved elsewhere. "Hey, you going to check in with anyone?" He paused. "You know? While you're over there?"

It took me a moment to grasp on to what Jason meant. Then it took me another moment to get over my shock. Our relationship wasn't the greatest. Jason could be stubborn as a mule and selfish as a tomcat. But I always appreciated when he let me know he cared. Like in this instance.

"Uh, I can give you a call once a day. Maybe when I get home. Just to check in."

"That might not be a bad idea." He seemed to mull that over. "Whose phone is this by the way?"

"It's the cell phone they gave me for work."

"You get to keep it?"

"I doubt it. It's just for when I'm working. So my boss can get in touch with me."

"That's Bill's boss?"

"Yeah, that's Bill's boss." Internally shrugging, I made up my mind. It wasn't like Eric wasn't known in the area. Fangtasia did a lot of business. "His name is Eric Northman and he owns the vamp bar in Shreveport."

"Fangtasia?"

"Yeah."

"On Industrial Drive?"

"Yeah," I was starting to get a little concerned by Jason's level of interest. I only trusted his motives of brotherly protectiveness so far. "Jase, there's no need for you to go to Fangtasia. I'm going to be at the hotel, remember?

"Yeah, I get that, sis. Just wanted to know who your boss is."

I wasn't sure if I bought Jason's explanation, but I figured I really didn't have time just then to pursue it. I'd already caught Pam glancing over at my car a few times.

"All right, Jase."

We spent a few minutes doing what Jason and our gran used to do, "catching up." It really was just gossiping. Aside from my own situation, I didn't have much to offer. I told him that Hoyt and Kevin were watching the Captains game at Merlotte's (which Jason already knew). I told him his most recent ex, Liz Barrett, was not at Merlotte's (fear that she'd be there was why Jase didn't meet up with Hoyt and Kevin). Since he hadn't caught up with the local news yet, I gave him a brief recap of the explosion in Shreveport. Not wanting to get into a discussion, I left off the part about the bomb being found at the El Dorado. My mind wandering, I was drawn back by the sound of my brother saying my name.

"Sook, can you believe that?"

"You mean about Kevin's magazine?" "Kevin's magazine" was the only other phrase I'd caught in the past minute.

"Yeah," he sounded pretty shocked. "They don't give the full recipe, but they list all the ingredients! Anyone can just go to a drug store, pick this stuff up and play around and then you got yourself a bomb!"

My mentioning the explosion on the news must have led us on this path. Curious, it seemed like a relevant question to ask.

"What did you say the name of the magazine was?"

"I don't remember exactly. It had 'Security' in the title. Kevin gets a ton of homeland security and police magazines."

We both fell silent after this. My brother had run through his topics and I'd just run out of steam, so it seemed like the natural end to the conversation.

"I'd best get going, Jason."

"Yeah, Sook," he paused. "Be careful, sis."

Startled, I was silent for a second. "Yeah, I will be."

"Remember to call me."

"Ah ha. I will."

"Okay, then, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Yep. Bye."

Click.

It was still early and as it was only Wednesday night, there shouldn't have been much of a crowd at Fangtasia. After giving my hair and makeup a quick onceover in the rearview mirror, I finally got out of the car and made my way to the club entrance. Arriving at the end of the line, I stood and waited.

Pam glanced up and saw me.

"Sookie." Pam called. "No need to wait. Come."

Conscious of the fang-bangers' stares, I abandoned my place on the line to approach Pam.

Pam, Eric's child, appeared to be about 19 or 20, although in actuality she was somewhere around 200. With her straight blonde hair, big blue eyes, and milky complexion, my first impression of her had been that of a sweet-looking milkmaid. With her fangs extended, it made for a bizarre contrast.

Since Fangtasia was a tourist bar that catered to humans, the vampires on staff dressed to look the part of vampires. Tonight Pam was wearing a black mermaid gown with flowing pendulum sleeves. When not at work, Pam's personal preferences were geared more towards pastels and prim-looking twinsets.

"Sookie, my friend," Pam smiled at me, fangs down. I used to find it pretty unnerving. I guess it's a testament to how far I've come, that the sight no longer bothers me?

"Hi Pam."

"You are not wearing your shawl from the Were. I should have reminded you to wear it."

Pam, like Eric, had a healthy sense of humor. One thing she really seemed to get a kick out of was teasing Eric. You'd think after a couple hundred years it would get old, but no. My shawl, which had been a gift from Alcide Herveaux, was apparently the best ammunition to tease Eric with since Hagar the Horrible.

"Pam, it's winter. I'm wearing my winter coat."

"Yes, I see that." Looking at it, Pam made a face letting me know exactly what she thought of my winter coat. Suddenly her face brightened. "We will order you a new coat."

"Pam, I can't take gifts like that."

"Sookie, do not be ridiculous. It would not be a gift. If anything, sparing others the affront of seeing that abomination is a gift to all."

_What?_ I glanced down at my coat. It wasn't that bad!

"Pam, my coat's not that bad! You're exaggerating."

"Maybe. Maybe not," she shrugged as she handed a license back to a patron and gestured for them to walk inside. "We will discuss this later." Pam smiled again. "In any case, we have a rather full agenda for you this evening. Eric has a small task he'd like you to do before we sit down to discuss your job."

This 'small task' was a surprise. I didn't care much for surprises. When half the people in your life are vampires, not liking surprises probably wasn't a bad credo to live by.

"What small task?"

"Sookie, it is so small, it barely merits attention."

"But, it's something you want me to do, so it's obviously important."

Pam stared at me. "I do not care for circular logic."

I was just pointing out the obvious. Not sure what Pam was talking about.

Pam glanced over her shoulder to peek inside the bar. "Belinda," she called.

A dark-haired woman wearing eyeglasses and dressed all in black joined us.

"Yes, Pam?"

"Bring our friend to Eric."

"Yes, Pam." Belinda turned to me. "Ma'am?" Belinda stood patiently waiting for me to follow.

"Go with Belinda," Pam instructed me. Nodding, I walked past Pam through the door and started to follow Belinda to the club's main floor.

Not yet ten feet inside the building, I heard Pam.

"Sookie!"

I turned back to look.

"Tell Eric you could not wear your shawl because it requires repair as the Were tore it off you in the heat of passion."

I rolled my eyes. That Pam.

Following Belinda to the main floor, I was again conscious of more than a few eyes passing over me. I'm not used to getting much attention. Trying to ignore it, I worked doubly hard keeping my shields up. Listening with my ears not my mind, it seemed the music was a bit different from what they typically played at Fangtasia. I figured I'd ask my scout.

"Belinda?"

"Yes?"

"They don't usually have this kind of music, do they?"

"Early on in the evening, sometimes we have themes."

As Nirvana's "Penny Royal Tea" ended and the Beatles' "You've Got To Hide Your Love Away" started, I wondered what the heck the theme could be.

"What's the theme?"

"Dead lead singers."

Silently I nodded. Distracted by the music, all of a sudden I found myself standing in front of Eric's booth.

An exotic-looking girl with cascading brown hair sat next to Eric, laughing. Gorgeous, she was wearing a sleeveless silver top that set off her grey eyes. Feeling vaguely like I'd had the wind knocked out of me, I fixed my eyes on the floor.

"Leave." My head sprang up and my eyes locked onto Eric's. He was telling the girl to go.

The girl—not a Fangtasia staffer as far as I knew, but not really your typical fang-banger—got up to leave, throwing me a dagger-filled look as she did. I caught the word "bitch" from her brain and redoubled my efforts to block out the voices. Plastering a smile on my face, I nodded awkwardly as the sullen girl let herself out of the booth.

Letting out a breath, I focused on the melody of the song. My parents had been Beatles fans so it was a song I associated with my childhood.

"Sookie?"

Drawn out of my reverie, my eyes shot to Eric who was watching me intently.

"Would you like a drink?"

I noticed Belinda was still standing next to me waiting to take my order.

"Maybe a ginger ale."

Eric nodded at Belinda and she took off. I settled into Eric's booth and attempted to firm up my shield. My encounter with Eric's "friend" hadn't helped my efforts.

Shutting my eyes, I ignored Eric and just focused on the song. When it ended, I opened them to find clear blue eyes staring intently into my own.

"Sookie, you are distressed?"

I'd never thought of it that way. It was kind of like living with a chronic yet non-life threatening health condition. It's a nuisance. You'd really rather not have it. But you get used to it.

"I'm fine."

"No," his eyes pierced mine. "You are not."

I sometimes forgot that I'd had more than a sip of Eric's blood. Aside from being the ultimate in semi-organic pick-me-ups, drinking a vampire's blood allowed the vampire to know things about you. Aside from whatever I might tell him, Eric had his own little peephole into my feelings. Although I had a track record of being able to beat his vamp lie detector, I got the feeling that Eric wasn't going to buy any denials from me right then.

"Um, it's just...the woman who was sitting here before..."

"Yvetta."

"Yeah. She doesn't like me."

Eric seemed to find that curious.

"You got that from her brain?"

"Yep."

"What else did you get?"

"Oh, I don't want to talk about it. I'd rather forget about it, actually." I could feel my cheeks flush. Eric had had sex with her and fed off her.

Eric raised an eyebrow at my comment. He knew what I was referring to, of course.

"I am a man, Sookie."

"I'm fully aware of what you are."

"I wonder that that's true," he replied. "This ability of yours clearly has certain advantages, but I wonder that it doesn't have disadvantages as well."

As far as I was concerned my "gift" provided maybe 90% disadvantages and 10% advantages—and that 10% had to do with not being able to be glamoured. So if I had never met any vampires, there would have been no upside to my "gift" at all as far as I was concerned.

"Eric, it's mostly disadvantages," I said. "I can hardly hear myself think sometimes."

"No," he paused. "That is not that type of disadvantage I am referring to…" He looked off at the dance floor. I could tell he was contemplating what he perceived as the pros and cons to my "gift."

Just then Belinda returned with our drinks. I took the lull in our conversation to ponder Eric's words—not his comment about my gift, but his odd remark about my not being fully aware of what he was. I felt like I didn't have a clue as to what he was referring to, but I figured after he'd taken a few sips from his True Blood, Eric would pick up where he'd left off. I was surprised when he changed the subject altogether.

"How did the shifter take the news? Do I send a waitress out to his bar?"

Running my fingertips over the length of my straw, my eyes were focused on my glass. Without thinking and without shifting my gaze, I snorted a reply.

"He's fine. He's not happy about it, but then, again, anyone who cares about me wouldn't be happy about me getting caught up in vampire shit again."

Eric raised an eyebrow at my curt comment. "His staffing situation is adequate?" He gave me a half-smile. "I could send Yvetta…"

I looked up sharply at him. "No," I kept my voice even. "He's got it covered."

Satisfied, Eric nodded. "Did Pam tell you of your other task?"

Hmmm, oh yeah. _That_.

"She just said there was a small task I needed to do before we talked about the job."

"Yes," he nodded. "I have another new employee." He sipped his blood. "I believe I can trust him, but why should I guess," Eric threw me a pointed look, "when I have a telepath?"

Okey-dokey. I took a sip of my soft drink.

"What kind of new employee?"

"I have hired a daytime man."

"A daytime man?"

"Yes. Some vampires hire humans to tend to business matters that must be conducted during the day."

Hearing Eric's explanation, I couldn't help but think it sounded like a reasonable enough thing. I had—months earlier—acted as a daytime man or daytime person for Bill, making calls to electricians and other contractors when he was having upgrades done to his house. Considering how much Eric seemed to have going on—with Fangtasia and El Dorado—it seemed curious that he had managed without a daytime person as long as he had.

"How come you don't already have one?"

Eric polished off his blood and looked at me.

"Many if not most transactions can be completed by computer these days. A few cannot. In the past, I have contracted lawyers and other consultants to secure business dealings. Now I find myself..." Eric seemed uncharacteristically at a loss for words as his gaze settled on me. I couldn't help but think that his blood may run cold, but, in that moment, I could've sworn I felt waves of heat rolling off him. Tearing my eyes from his, I looked down at my glass. "I find myself wanting to free up some time in my schedule. Hiring a daytime man is to help meet this goal."

Oh. "What do you want me to ask him?"

"I'll trust your judgment on that. I've checked his references. I don't doubt his experience. I just need to confirm his intentions."

Suddenly Eric climbed out of the booth. Glancing around Fangtasia, I realized how many people—men and women—had their eyes glued to him. Casually I glanced at what he was wearing. It was his usual outfit of jeans and t-shirt, but few filled a pair of jeans and t-shirt better than Eric Northman. Realizing my eyes were lingering a tad too long, I shifted my eyes to the dance floor.

"Are you excited, Sookie?"

"Um, sorry?" I really needed to stop letting my mind wander around Eric. I hated getting caught off-guard around him.

"Are you excited to be using your gift?"

I hadn't actually thought of it in that way until Eric posed the question. Surprised, I realized I _was_ excited. I was excited by the sense of power and control I felt when using my gift. Glancing up at Eric's face, I could tell by his smug expression that he knew it too.

"Come, Miss Stackhouse," Eric raised a hand out to me. "Time to clock in," he grinned.

Taking his hand, I returned his smile before remembering I should have given him an earful over the whole Barbie thing.

Later, I thought. I'm going to just enjoy this moment.

* * *

**AN: I know I went off SVM canon with Yvetta but I needed a femme fatale. She is ****not**** a cardiologist. For the record, the Beatles' "You've Got to Hide Your Love Away" is a lovely song. Song and lyrics are on my blog. My favorite Ch 4 line: "I do not care for circular logic." That Pam.**

**As always, thank you for reading. Comments welcome. Patience appreciated.**


	5. A Small Task

**Disclaimer: Most characters and setting belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just making them solve mysteries.**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: The glorious period during which Bill was seeking nirvana at Machu Picchu in Peru.**

* * *

Hand-in-hand, I followed Eric out of Fangtasia's main room and down the hallway that led to his office. A few yards from his office door, I paused. Sensing the halt to my progress, Eric stopped and turned around to throw me a questioning look.

"I don't know what to ask him," I said simply.

Eric digested that and seemed to consider it.

"He is being hired to perform various tasks. Some of great importance, some quite mundane. I know he is capable of excelling at these tasks, but the question is will he? I think insight into his motivations would be helpful. He already has a job at a company where he could move up," pausing Eric grinned. "I don't foresee a need to replace Pam. Barring that, he's unlikely to advance status."

I nodded as I was cottoning on to where Eric was coming from.

"So why does he want the job?"

"Exactly."

"Do you have any suggestions on what to ask?"

Eric's cool blue eyes focused on mine.

"I've seen you with Ginger and Belinda. Stan Davis had only positive words to say about your ability and technique. I trust your judgment."

Startled, I looked at Eric. I didn't know how far into Eric's life this "daytime man" would venture. He'd be dealing with business details, financial statements, possibly making travel arrangements. This last one, especially, was not something you'd trust to just anyone. Not if you were a vampire looking to travel during daylight hours. At some point, Eric's life might depend on this guy. Eric was entrusting me with a rather important decision. Although I had similarly trusted him to look out for me in potentially risky situations—an orgy with a murderer, staked and bleeding in a vampire-filled mansion—I still felt rather awed. And worried. Of course, Eric knew this.

"Sookie, what are you worried about?" he smiled reassuringly at me. Taking a step forward, he positioned himself a few inches away from me. Still smiling, he brought his hands up to my face, caressing my cheeks with his thumbs. "You have trusted me with your life—on more than one occasion—and I have not failed you, nor do I ever intend to. Now it is my turn to trust you." Upon his bringing his lips down to my forehead, I couldn't help the slight shiver that coursed through my body.

This was not good. Ironically, it wasn't lost on me that my steadfast resistance to getting involved with Sam—because he was my boss—ought to apply to Eric, too. Staring up at his features, it occurred to me that Eric would just fire me if he thought I was going to play that card.

"Come." He took me by the arm and led me down the remainder of the hallway to his office.

ooOOOoo

A little while later, our happy little Fangtasia family was squirreled away in Eric's office. Eric sat at his desk, while Pam and Chow—the third partner at Fangtasia, a short yet powerful Asian vampire with Yakuza tattoos— stood at the door. I sat at a small card table across from a very pale, stern-looking young man named Bobby Burnham.

"Bobby, " Eric glanced up from some papers on his desk. "As I indicated, your being hired is contingent on one more interview. With Miss Stackhouse."

Bobby, looking at Eric, nodded.

"Now, please just answer Miss Stackhouse's questions."

Bobby shifted his chair so that he was facing me.

Staring at Bobby, I pondered how to go about my task. I'd discovered by accident I could—by guiding people into a state of relaxation— use my gift to put people into an almost hypnotic trance. It had been useful when dealing with someone who might have observed something but wasn't aware of what they saw or they had blocked it out for some reason. If a person had been glamoured, I wouldn't be able to access their lost memories but I could confirm that they'd been glamoured by the holes in their brain.

Looking into Bobby's mind I could hear him noting that I was pretty but he'd noticed my Merlotte's uniform and was wondering why Eric wanted a waitress to interview him for a personal assistant position. He'd actually assumed Eric was going to have him interviewed by an old guy with a lie detector. I smiled slightly at that realizing that's just what I was. Absent, the part about my being old or being a guy, of course. If I ever marketed my services—_yeah, right_—I'd bill myself as the human lie detector.

A tinge of worry resurfaced but I reminded myself that Eric's instincts—the same ones that had kept him alive for a millennium— were telling him that the guy was okay. Having put myself at ease once more, I set about my task.

"Bobby, it would be good if you relaxed. Can you think of something you enjoy doing? Something you find relaxing?"

Getting a gleam into his head, I mentally shrugged. I guess everyone's got different relaxation techniques. I lay in the sun and he likes to wash his car.

"Okay," I put my hand on the table. "Can I have your hand?"

What the fuck does this freaky girl want with me? Bobby was thinking. He hesitated.

"Bobby, your position depends upon your cooperation." Eric reminded his would-be staffer.

I glanced briefly at Eric.

Bobby's hand came up to the table. Really we were doing okay without the physical contact but I had a long night ahead of me. I felt I owed it to myself to conserve my energy.

"Why do you want to work for Eric?"

"I think it would be interesting."

Although I could tell he was telling the truth, I sensed a little more. I sensed admiration. Maybe even hero worship.

"Have you ever heard of the Fellowship of the Sun?

"Yes, I've heard of them."

Truth.

"Have you ever met anyone who was a member of the Fellowship of the Sun?"

"No." Ding. Ding. Ding. No, someone named Paul...

"Are you sure?" Not wanting it to appear in front of Eric that I thought Bobby was being duplicitous on purpose, I figured I'd give him a chance to own up to his omission.

Bobby sucked in a breath. Eric, who had been sitting back in his chair, suddenly leaned in forward slightly menacingly.

"What about Paul?" I prodded.

Even if I hadn't been able to read it in his thoughts, Bobby's face, fixed on me as it was, made it clear that he regarded me with a combination of fear and loathing. I didn't appreciate that I was getting pigeonholed as the bad guy in all this.

"Having met someone at some point in your life won't lose you the job, Bobby. Lying to me will," I reasoned with him.

Silently he nodded. "I know someone through my last job. Paul Marriott. He's a member. Tried to get me involved a couple of times. I told him I wasn't interested."

Truth. I smiled encouragingly.

"Do you know any other vampires?"

"I've met a few. Here and there. At different events."

That was true.

"Have you done business with any?"

"I haven't."

That was technically true, but I felt that he was holding back on something. It had to do with Eric.

"Who asked you about Eric?"

Bobby's eyes widened. The fear was subtly eclipsing the loathing.

"A woman named Jennifer Catar. At a development conference I attended a couple of weeks ago. I mentioned where I was from and she asked me about Eric."

He was telling the truth as far as I could tell.

"What did she ask?"

"Just if I knew him."

"What did you say?"

"I had sent in my resume at that point but hadn't met him. I told her the truth."

"Do you know about other supes, Bobby? Other than vampires?"

"You mean like shifters and weres?"

I smiled indulgently. Finally my buddy Bobby was catching on that lying wasn't going to fly.

"Yeah, Bobby. Exactly."

"Yeah, I had a close friend who was a shifter."

He was being honest and I didn't get the feeling that he was holding back on anything.

"Thank you, Bobby." Smiling at him, I dropped his hand. Looking back over my shoulder at Eric, I nodded to let him know all seemed okay. Eric returned my nod and turned his attention to Bobby.

"Bobby," Eric looked at Bobby, a serious expression on his face. "You would do well to remember that Miss Stackhouse is your colleague and is an important member of my retinue. As such, she is to be accorded with the same respect that you would extend to me," he said. This was news to me. My eyes widened. "You have the job. Overarching all tasks is to protect" he paused, "my interests which includes those in my retinue." Eric handed his new daytime guy a manila folder a quarter inch thick. "There are confidential matters in here pertaining to Miss Stackhouse. Get to work."

Bobby, meanwhile, had risen to his feet. Leaning over the table to grab the folder from Eric, I half expected him to bow and call Eric "Master" like the fang-bangers in the club.

"Yes, Eric." He just nodded, his face somber.

"Remember. Either myself or Pam will call you later with additional instructions following our meeting tonight."

"I'll remember."

"Good. Thank you." Eric dismissed Bobby.

Bobby seemed to be a little in shock at first but he was gradually catching on to the fact that we were done with him. He gathered his things. I hoped there wouldn't be hard feelings but from the look he threw me, I could tell there was one more person who wouldn't be looking to sign up for the Sookie Stackhouse fan club any time soon.

Pam opened the door and Bobby left. Looking at me, Eric cocked an eyebrow. I could tell he was asking me my impression of Bobby. I just shrugged. He seemed to catch on that there wasn't much beyond what was made clear during the interview.

Eric looked past me to Pam and Chow and gestured for each of them to take a seat. The two vampires abandoned their posts at the door and made themselves comfortable on the black leather couch. I continued to sit at the table. Eric reclined back in his desk chair. Without warning, he shook his head soberly.

"Ah Miss Stackhouse, I seem to have done myself a disservice."

Not getting it, I just stared at him.

"Now that you're my employee," he said seriously, "I may have to watch what I say. Pam informs me humans are quite serious about their sexual harassment laws."

"Dear Abby says workers can file claims with the government if they are subjected to unwanted attention from their employer," Pam interrupted. "Then the government will come and investigate the employer."

Glancing at Pam, I was momentarily taken aback until I turned my gaze back to Eric and saw the amusement in his eyes.

Yeah, right. I think the only thing that kept Eric from trying to solidify his couch's role as a casting couch right then was the fact that it was occupied by 300 plus years worth of vampire.

"So, my Sookie, are you ready to learn about your new job?"

'No' is what I was thinking.

"Bring it on," is what I said.

All I could think was that I really needed to fix my brain-mouth connection.

* * *

**AN: ****As always, thank you for reading. Comments welcome. Patience appreciated.**


	6. Chow Speaks

**Disclaimer: Most characters and setting belong to Charlaine Harris. I'm just making them solve mysteries.**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: The glorious period during which Bill was seeking nirvana at Machu Picchu in Peru.**

* * *

As I sipped my fresh ginger ale—delivered by Ginger—it crossed my mind that, despite my New Year's resolution, here I was back with My Three Vamps. I couldn't help but recognize that my intentions and my actions seemed to be traveling on different wavelengths. After my breakup with Bill—and the disastrous trip to Jackson—I'd resolved to leave the vamp world behind. I was tired of being hurt, beaten up, and in constant danger. Yet, here I was. Smack dab in the middle of it again. However, rather than pondering it just then—when I needed to concentrate on listening— I decided to tuck it away till later.

"Sookie, you know only what I told you last night and, of course, what you saw in the news today," Eric started.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"There have been a series of events and—up until the bomb today—we have been able to keep these incidents out of the news," he paused. "Now, of course, we are—as you humans say—in the limelight."

Not sure how to repond, I nodded.

"Over the past few weeks, there have been two incidents in which out of town vampires have been staked in their hotel rooms."

Thinking back to my conversation with Eric the previous night, I struggled to recall the details of what he told me.

"Did they know each other?"

Eric shook his head. "By all counts, no. The man, Sandy Megly, was from California and Meryl Brons, a female vampire, was from New York."

Eric opened up a folder and pulled out what I recognized to be printouts from Bill's vampire database. He handed me the sheets. I glanced at the photographs of the two dead vamps. Pretty non-descript for vamps I thought.

"So, someone's beating the daytime security and getting into the vamps' hotel rooms?"

Eric shook his head. "Not exactly." He glanced over at Chow. "Chow."

Rising from the couch, Chow leaned down and grabbed a camera bag that had been sitting on the floor next to Pam. I bit back a nervous titter as I realized the Asian vamp was the designated audio/visual electronics expert. I watched as he silently made his way around the table I was sitting at and removed the seemingly professional-caliber digital camera from it's carrying case. Positioning it carefully on Eric's desk, he set it up so that it faced me. Apparently it was only to be for my viewing pleasure.

"Watch," instructed Chow.

The video—clearly from a hallway security camera given the elevated angle and the corridor view—depicted a person wearing a room service attendant uniform pushing a cart to the door of a hotel room. Upon knocking, a woman answers and the "attendant" is allowed into the room. A short while later, the "attendant" leaves—with the cart—backing away down the hallway with their face turned away from the camera. Suddenly, once at the end of the hallway, the figure's image blurs in an unhuman way. I felt my jaw drop. The "attendant" was a vampire.

Chow hit the stop button on the camera and the film stopped playing. I was somewhat startled to find Chow looking at me expectantly.

Although I'd met Chow a handful of times, we'd never actually had a conversation. Having him look at me like he was waiting for me to speak to him was disconcerting to say the very least. I waited for him to go back to Eric's couch but no, he kept standing in front of Eric's desk his gaze firmly planted on me. He even nodded encouragingly at me.

Alrighty, then...

"This camera didn't get the attendant's face. Wouldn't there be a security camera aimed in the other direction?"

Chow nodded. "There was a flaw in the building design," Chow answered. "There are a couple of spots at the ends of hallways where—because of support columns that jut out—cameras are of limited use due to blind spots. This is one of those locations."

I nodded. I figured it sounded stupid enough to be true.

"So whoever's doing this knows that?" I addressed my question to Chow but this time it was Eric who answered.

"Yes," Eric said as I turned to face him. "Either they work there currently. Did in the past. Or are just frequent visitors."

I nodded. That seemed to open up the cast of suspects to be just about anyone on the planet.

"What about at the elevator?" I glanced between Eric and Chow. "Wouldn't there be cameras by the elevator?"

Chow opted to field it. "A good point." I frowned as he nodded approvingly. "They seem to be taking the stairs." He shrugged. "There is a door to a stairwell located just off-camera. When the vamp starts to use vamp speed, he's already heading out that door."

"What about when he leaves the building? No camera captures him anywhere?"

"Not in a way that would allow for a definite identification."

Hmmm. Okay.

"The attendant is just leaving the cart?"

"Yes," Chow explained. "In both instances, the carts were found abandoned in the hallway. Empty ice bucket. No fingerprints of any kind."

Hmmm…this really was a brainteaser. Then the light bulb went on in my head. Sometimes things are simpler than they seem.

"I know we didn't get the face in the film, but do we know for a fact that the attendant is fake?"

"Yes," Chow replied. "The hotel has no vampires employed as room service attendants."

"Okay," pondering that, I reflected on the footage. "So, the fake attendant is staking the visiting vamps?"

Chow shook his head. "No. Watch."

Chow hit fast-forward on the camera and we watched other people's comings and goings as the frames advanced in double-speed. Finally Chow lifted his finger and let the footage play in normal speed. It showed a well-dressed man approach the same hotel door, knock, and, determining no one was answering, proceed to open the unlocked door and enter the hotel room. After about ten minutes, the man—like the vampire before him—backed out of the room. As he proceeded down the hallway, instead of moving away backwards—as the vampire had done, he obscures his face with a handkerchief.

Chow hit stop and turned off the camera. After he had replaced the video equipment to its carrying case, he returned to his spot on the couch next to Pam.

I guessed I was done chatting with my new bud Chow. I swung around to face Eric.

"What about the second murder?"

"Identical, but for the fact that the victim, Sandy, was a man. The room service attendant appeared to be the same—or at least, the same build and mannerisms. Still we could not see the face. But this time, the second visitor was a female. As with the man in the film you saw, the woman did not allow her face to be seen, covering it with a scarf."

Staring at Eric, I allowed my mind to wander. If the humans were letting themselves into unlocked rooms and staking vampires at night when the vampires ought to be awake and fully functional, then the fake room service attendant must be doing something to the vamps so they're injured and defenseless. Silver? But how'd he carry it around, being a vampire too? The cart. It had an ice bucket.

"Maybe the vamp attendant's bringing them infected blood?" Posing the question at large, I glanced at all three of the vampires. It was Eric who responded.

"Yes," Eric nodded. "He's weakening them somehow. We don't know with what exactly."

"I think they're giving them sino-infected blood," Pam injected. "That would leave a vamp debilitated. A regular strength human, finding them like that, off-guard, would be able to stake them."

"Could be using silver," Chow suggested.

"If he's using silver chains, how are the chains then disappearing?" Pam glared at Chow. "We have seen the footage of the man and the woman leaving. They are neatly dressed. There are no bulges."

Pam said this last sentence phonetically, enunciating each word. It took me a few seconds to catch on to what she meant.

"You mean the killers can't be smuggling chains out of the rooms because there's no way for them to be hiding them under their clothes?"

"Exactly." Pam, pleased to have someone seeing her point of view, smiled at me before turning to scowl at Chow some more.

I, meanwhile, shifted around to face Eric.

"Is there anything else? Who else knows about what's going on? Did you question anyone?"

"I will respond to your last question," Eric replied. "Our esteemed Area Investigator has selected this time to climb Machu Picchu. As I have said of Bill repeatedly, he is better than nothing. In his absence," Eric paused, "we are, in fact, left with nothing. Between Pam, Chow, and myself, we have done what we could." Pausing Eric made eye contact with his child and nodded. "Pam will explain further." Eric gestured with his hand for Pam to take over the narrative.

Pam nodded. I turned in my chair so that I was facing Pam.

"Sookie, we questioned the manager on staff at the time as well as security. The upper level hotel management and security are the only ones who know there have been two murders. We did not disclose information about it to all staff. The decision was made to keep it quiet."

"But don't you think you should let more folks know?" My gaze met Pam's. "So they can be prepared? Take precautions?"

Pam's eyes darted over to Eric. Swiveling around to look at Eric, I saw him silently shaking his head.

I could understand how if it got out that vamps were being murdered during the equivalent of broad daylight it would be bad for business—and bad for Eric—but still it seemed careless to not do anything to warn people or vamps. Slightly outraged by their cavalier attitude, I couldn't keep silent.

"Why the heck not?" In my indignation, I could hear my voice increase by an octave.

"For one thing," Eric replied smoothly, "we don't expect any more murders."

"What? How do you know?"

"Pam," Eric nodded, throwing the ball back to Pam.

"We have discontinued use of the rooms where the security blind spot exists."

Well, that was something but that wasn't necessarily enough to keep a determined killer at bay.

"Still, if someone's determined—"

"RFID chips have been placed on all the room service carts." Pam just charged on as if I hadn't said a word. "Their locations are being tracked and the identity of who has them at all times is similarly being tracked."

"What's an RFID chip?"

"Radio Frequency Identification. Tiny computer chips. They are used extensively in monitoring merchandise inventory, supply chain management, and tracking merchandise delivery."

"Oh. But still—"

"Sookie," interrupted Eric, "we appreciate your concern but we are not alerting everyone. Doing so would only bring more danger. Not only more danger for us," he quirked an eyebrow for emphasis, "but for everyone in Area Five's retinue."

Well, heck. That was Eric's none-too-subtle way of letting me know I was in it for the long haul. I sighed.

"How do you figure?"

"Vampires have a tendency to swarm like sharks. If a weakness has been revealed, there will be an idea that the weakened area is fit for taking."

Suddenly I felt a cold fear wash over me. My eyes locked onto Eric's steely gaze.

"Revealing too much puts you at risk…" I said.

"Revealing too much puts us _all_ at risk." Continuing to meet Eric's eyes, I thought I caught a rare glimpse of a human emotion in them—vulnerability. "Besides, we are certain that whomever is perpetrating these murders is doing so—not to take down the intended targets—the targets appear to be cast as victims only due to their unlucky fate with room assignment. Really, the murders are intended as a message to me, as the Sherriff of Area Five, and to my Queen, as the one who ultimately reigns over Area Five."

Biting my lower lip, I fixed my eyes downward, staring at my glass. I thought I was catching up to the vampires' way of thinking. The murders had been Phase 1. Now—whoever was doing this—had stepped up their efforts to Phase 2.

"You think the murders are done because now they've stepped up to bombs."

Eric nodded.

"Yes. We think the murders are done because now they've stepped up to bombs."

"I guess the bomber wasn't caught on security cameras, either, huh?"

"No," Eric shook his head. "A figure cloaked in black deposited the package behind a mailbox. It was not something immediately discernible."

"You think they'll do more at this ball you're having on Saturday."

"Yes."

"Who's going to be at this ball?"

"Pam," Eric nodded for her to resume the narration.

"Saturday's gala is to introduce the renovated casino. The Queen of Louisiana will be the guest of honor. I don't know what Eric and Bill have told you of her but her name is Sophie Anne LeClerq and she will be traveling up from New Orleans with her entourage."

Pam paused, obviously considering her words.

"There has been an effort underway to promote Shreveport-Bossier City to the film industry. There has been a lot of investment recently to encourage this business development. Many of the individuals involved in this effort have been invited to the gala. We can provide you with a copy of the guest list. Actually, that is something Marnie—the hotel manager—should have. As the event is of such high visibility, it seems likely that whoever is targeting Eric, targeting us, would attempt something on Saturday.

"Not only will our queen be here, but it is imperative that we be perceived as being in control of the situation. Should something happen at the hotel on Saturday," Pam shrugged. "It would not be good," she finished simply.

"That, my Sookie," at the sound of Eric's voice I turned back around, "is why we have enlisted your help."

Wow. No pressure.

* * *

**AN: Go Chow! I gave Chow the most dialogue of his undead life. Is it wrong I made the Asian vamp the camera expert? *cringe* True about Shreveport having a burgeoning film industry. "Straw Dogs" was filmed there. See:shreveport-bossierfilm (dot)com.**

**As always, thank you for reading. Comments welcome. Patience appreciated.**


	7. Cauldrons Spells Broomsticks

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball. I'm just making them solve mysteries.**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious.**

* * *

Once My Three Vamps had filled me in on the murders and the upcoming gala, Pam, with an announcement that she'd be right back, abruptly left the office. Worried, I silently prayed she wouldn't be returning with Clairol products. I was still hoping to dodge the dye job bullet. With Pam gone, Eric and Chow fell into a conversation about the club. Overhearing their discussion, I concluded that my assumption that Chow had bought into Fangtasia seemed to be right on the money (literally). Trying to wait patiently, I shifted uncomfortably in the foldout chair as I looked longingly at the black leather couch.

Sitting there, I attempted to make sense of everything I'd heard from the three vamps and everything that had been disclosed on the news. In retrospect, I realized that the televised news story had given minimal details. They didn't say anything about what the explosive device looked like, what it was made of, how big it was, how they'd disguised it—although Eric said they hid it behind a mailbox. Mulling over all the clues and missing clues, it was the sound of Eric calling my name that brought me back to the present.

"Sookie?" Eric was seated in front of me on the couch. Leaning forward with his elbows balanced on his knees, his biceps and deltoids seemed to be putting an unfair strain on his t-shirt. The shirt was practically begging for mercy.

"Sookie?" Yeah, I was staring right at him and he still had to say my name twice to get my attention.

"Yeah?" Glancing around the room, I noticed for the first time we were alone. Not good. "Where'd Chow go?"

"Why, Sookie?" Eric grinned. "Do you feel we need a chaperone?" He continued to smirk. Maybe because I felt a little embarrassed at being caught ogling him, I fell back on my routine game plan.

"No," I shook my head, smiling. "At least _I_ don't. _You_ can just keep on dreaming." Recalling Pam's comments from earlier, I snorted. "Maybe I'll add that Louisiana sexual harassment hotline to my cell phone." I continued to giggle as it occurred to me that any woman working for Eric Northman ought to have that number programmed into her cell phone. Maybe the state sexual harassment office should air a public service announcement warning potential employees about the possible sexual hazards of working for Eric Northman. Maybe they ought to open a satellite office in the strip mall next to Fangtasia.

Pam reappeared carrying a laptop case. With obvious amusement, she took in the scene of me sitting at the card table giggling while Eric stared at me from his perch on the couch. Rather than dislodging Eric and reclaiming her spot on the couch, Pam took Bobby's empty seat at the card table. No longer able to view me from the couch, Eric returned to his desk.

Dismissing Eric's odd behavior, I watched as Pam quickly and efficiently set up her computer and grabbed several folders from the case. Noticing me watching her, she gave me a reassuring smile.

"Only a few minutes more, my friend Sookie. I mean," she paused and then repeated, with emphasis, "my friend, _Michele_."

I rolled my eyes. Even though picking out an alias was something I'd done at her insistence, she was still going to tease me about it. I shot a glance at Eric, who was studiously leafing through some papers.

"We almost ready?" I asked after a few minutes. It was almost eleven o'clock. I'd been there nearly three hours. It had been an intense three hours. I was already exhausted. I wondered how I'd be able to function at Merlotte's the next day but then I remembered I wasn't going to Merlotte's. I was interviewing at the El Dorado with someone named Marnie. This made me feel better for all of two seconds.

"Just waiting on Pam." I started when Eric spoke, having forgotten I'd asked a question. Glancing over at him, I found his eyes speculatively focused on me.

"And I am now ready," Pam said.

I turned my attention to Pam, only to realize she was watching Eric. I turned back to face him.

"As you know, Pam and I are part owners of the El Dorado." I nodded. I hadn't known the bit about Pam but it made sense. "There are numerous partners involved, but we are the only ones with any visibility. As the murders have occurred this past month, knowing the casino gala was approaching, Pam," Eric gestured towards his child who nodded, "and I came to the conclusion that we needed someone at the hotel during the day, observing what we cannot."

Okey-dokey. I could understand that.

"Given the level of uncertainty regarding who we can trust, putting in additional security seemed pointless. As you have noted, it's an inside job. Under the scrutiny of additional security, the perpetrators would simply deviate their activities to avoid discovery." Eric quirked an eyebrow at me and I nodded letting him know I understood their reasoning. "Instead, we thought it better to place someone at the hotel under the guise of an unrelated matter. Someone who would not arise suspicion yet who would be in a good position to observe."

"I suggested the idea of an events liaison," Pam injected. "I had read of it in a magazine describing flexible career options." Pam had a self-satisfied smile on her face. Although I'd never tell Pam, I thought it was kind of cute, how pleased with herself she seemed. I guess you're never too old to take pride in learning something new.

"Oh," I nodded.

"We developed the plan with you in mind," Pam said.

"You see? There's no one else we would trust." Eric threw me a significant look.

I was getting more ideas for marketing my Human Lie Detector business. _Sookie Stackhouse: Trusted by Vamps Areawide_. Of course, 99.9% of humans had no inkling of the political jurisdictions established by the vamp hierarchy, so the term 'Area' would mean nothing to them but that shouldn't matter. It still sounded good.

"Sookie," Pam had started typing on her laptop. "Did you bring a resume?"

"Um, yeah." Opening my handbag, I quickly pulled out Pam's fax with my resume notes jotted on the back. I handed the folded up sheet to Pam who frowned as she took the paper.

"What is this?" she asked as she lifted the sheet to her nose. She grimaced. "No wonder Compton has developed extra sensitive olfactory senses."

"I got a little ketchup on it is all."

"I don't know how you humans do it," she shook her head.

"I could say the same for you, Pam."

Pam shrugged and continued typing. At the sound of Eric clearing his throat, I turned around to look at him.

"So, we suggested to the hotel manager, Marnie Stonebrook, a Were, that an events liaison be hired temporarily to assist with the gala and the other events this week. We may make it a permanent position, but this doesn't concern you as you wish to return to your shifter."

Eric's tone echoed a hint of disapproval but I chose to ignore it. Suddenly Pam was throwing in more of her two cents.

"You will not like Marnie."

My head shot around to her. "What? Why not?"

Pam shrugged again. "No reason. Sometimes humans will say—before introductions—'you will like him or her.' Why can we not point out the opposite if we believe it to be true?"

I couldn't fault her logic. Personally I hated it when people told me I'd love so-and-so. Usually the new acquaintance wouldn't make it onto my long list. Or even the waiting list for my long list.

"There is more," continued Pam. I watched her, waiting.

"Pam." Eric's voice was steel. Curious, I glanced at him.

"Eric, she should know everything so she is not caught off-guard." Pam quirked a brow at Eric and waited for him to relent. An undercurrent of silent communication passed between them in the deathly quiet office. Pam emerged victorious as Eric finally conceded to her wishes.

"Fine."

Eric's agreement was barely past his lips when Pam started to relay to me all the juicy details she was obviously anxious to share.

"Marnie is a witch."

"What?" I asked.

"A witch. Cauldrons. Spells. Broomsticks."

"You're kidding."

"No," Pam shook her head. "I'm not. We do not know how powerful she is, nor do we know anything about her coven although we know she belongs to one."

I'd never met a witch before and here I was going to be working with one. Considering I was already working with vampires and had been working for a shifter for years, maybe my surprise at the revelation was a bit of an overreaction. Still I was curious.

"What do witches do?"

Pam gave me an exasperated look. "What do humans do?"

I wasn't really clear on Pam's line of questioning, so maybe my answer was a little on the smart side.

"We go around doing human things."

Surprisingly this response suited Pam just fine.

"Yes!" she nodded emphatically. "And witches go around doing witch things! So far we've gotten around having problems with Marnie by paying her twice what she's worth and being a silent partner in some witchcraft shop she owns. I do not know much about witchcraft. If you really want to know more, talk to Chow. He's our resident expert on mysticism."

Pondering Pam's words, I frowned. I figured I probably ought to get up to speed on witchcraft considering I'd be working with a witch. Despite the difficulty I had envisioning myself asking Chow for a lesson on witchcraft, I had to admit all bets seemed to be off. While 24 hours earlier I would have regarded the idea of a beauty makeover from Pam wtih the same likelihood of a camping trip with the Easter Bunny, it definitely seemed to be on my night's itinerary.

"Okay."

"Now, about Marnie," Pam continued. "There's one more thing..." She hesitated. I just kept looking at her expectantly.

"What?" I asked.

"She has a thing for Eric."

I felt my eyes grow into saucers as I threw a glance in Eric's direction. Before I could stop myself, I heard a cringe-worthy retort fly from my lips.

"Does she know about _Yvetta_?"

It was Pam's turn to show surprise. "She doesn't and frankly I'm surprised you do." Pam glared at Eric.

"Yvetta is working tonight, Pam." Eric stated, matter-of-factly.

"Is that what you call it?" Pam replied icily.

"Pam." A person would have to be really thickheaded to not catch the warning in Eric's tone.

Pam shrugged. She apparently wasn't thickheaded as she quickly dropped the subject. "Anyway, back to Marnie. She's vile but well-organized. She knows about the murders and was working both nights. Due to the increasing number of vamp guests at the El Dorado, they have more staff on at night than previously. I am not clear on how they divide their shifts," Pam said. "Marnie seems to always be there. Perhaps she has conjured up a doppelganger of herself."

"What does she know about me?" I was starting to feel a little nervous about Marnie Stonebrook the witch with the hots for Eric.

"Marnie is lazy when it comes to matters not directly involving her," Pam replied. "She has had no interest in filling this position. We told her we had some resumes left over from Eric's search for his daytime person. I told her I would contact some of the candidates and see if I could secure someone easily. Being lazy, she quickly agreed."

"So, she thinks I interviewed or at least sent in my resume to be Eric's dayperson?"

"Yes," Pam nodded. "Hmmm. I think it is safest to say we did not interview you in person."

"Why not?"

"Marnie desires Eric. She is insecure. If she thought you had met Eric, she might..." Pam's thought process seemed to falter. "I think it's for the best."

I didn't know anything about witches—aside from what I'd gotten from watching 'Bewitched,' 'Sabrina' and various other television shows over the years. I'd defer to Pam on this.

"The hotel concierge, Christian Baruch, is a rather worthless being," Pam made a face. "The last concierge was not comfortable with vampires. This one is courting every one in sight as he wishes to be turned."

"Do you think he's involved?" I asked. "Maybe the vamp promised to turn him if he cooperates with them?"

Pam's eyes opened wide and she glanced over at Eric. He responded with a raised eyebrow.

"You see? She thinks outside the box."

Pam turned back to me. "No, I hadn't regarded that tiresome sycophant as a suspect but now I do. Listen to him."

I nodded.

"The hotel security director is named Todd Donati. He is a longtime professional in the security field—a former police chief—and he relocated from the Northeast to take this job. We were lucky to get him to come to Louisiana."

Okay, my penchant for thinking outside of the box wasn't working on this one. "Pam? I don't get it. Why would that matter? Where he's from?"

Pam had a thoughtful expression on her face. "There are networks of obligations in systems. Had we hired a local person, we would've had to accept his political baggage and obligations to others in the system."

Oh.

"Besides," she continued, "Louisiana is not known for it's morally upstanding political leaders. We thought it best to shop around."

Okey-dokey.

"Now, E(E)E..." Pam started.

"What does it stand for?"

"Sookie, your brain fixates on the most interesting things sometimes." She cocked an eyebrow at Eric.

"Extremely Elegant Events."

Pam nodded. "Yes, that's right. Extremely Elegant Events. They do special events for supes. A lot of supes tend to use them even if it is not a strictly supe event. John Quinn, as a supe, is the partner who handles supe events."

"What is he?" I asked.

"A shifter."

"Oh."

"He has a long rather unfortunate history with vampires." Pam, a thoughtful look on her face, glanced at Eric. "I suppose, he, like Christian Baruch, could be in debt to someone and involved somehow."

"That would be a pity. I may not care for him but he's good at keeping transgressions to a minimum."

Pam snorted. "Eric," Pam said,"he is a _tiger_. I would hope he'd be able to keep transgressions to a minimum." _Tiger?_ "Anyway, Sookie, Quinn usually has a few staffers and they contract out for other services." Pam paused. "Eric, do we have the staffing chart?"

Eric rifled through one of the folders on his desk and grabbed a couple of sheets he then handed over to me.

"Thanks."

Eric nodded.

I glanced down at the sheets and saw John Quinn at the top of the chart. As the sheet had color photographs accompanying each bio, I got my first glimpse at John Quinn. Apparently he was bald with white even teeth and an easy smile. I thought he had beautiful eyes. I must've been staring extra long as I heard Eric clear his throat prompting me to look up.

"What do you think?"

I didn't think Eric would be asking me my impressions of how handsome I thought John Quinn was. Confused, I frowned.

"Of what?"

"Of their backgrounds." He slanted his eyes. "I'm asking your impressions of their backgrounds. If you have any insights."

Oh. Silently I nodded and returned my attention to staffing chart. _Hondo Rivera_. _Jake Purifoy_. _Bettina Alia_. _Frannie Quinn. _Glancing quickly at the bios, I noted that Frannie seemed too young to be a wife. I figured she must be his sister. I thought I could see a family resemblance. Reviewing their brief work backgrounds, nothing struck me as particularly noteworthy. I shook my head in response to Eric's question. I was curious about them, however.

"Are they all Weres or shifters?"

"I believe," Pam grabbed the sheet from me and looked at it. "Hondo and Jake are Weres. Bettina is a shifter. I don't think Quinn's sister is anything." Pam shot a questioning glance at Eric who nodded confirmation. "As for your new identity Sookie, Bobby Burnham's first order of business is to procure your new official ID. I have to take a photo once your hair is done so that I can email it to him."

Oh, yeah. _That_.

"Pam, about dying my hair red and the colored contacts—_is there any other way_?" I had told myself to stand firm. I couldn't help but wince at the pleading tone in my voice.

Hearing a sound, I glanced over my shoulder to look at Eric, who had an equally pained expression on his face. Hmmm. I almost laughed out loud. He did seem nearly as upset about my hair as I was.

"Sookie, I am sorry," he smiled sadly. This was Serious Eric come to visit. "It must be done. It is not a lark. It is for your safety." Just as suddenly, Serious Eric was gone. I could see his lips twitching at the edges. I mentally prepared myself for his next words. "However, if we find some amusement in this, then we are certainly free to continue. Pam said you were not thrilled with the idea of red. Perhaps you would like to be a brunette, next time?"

I threw Pam an angry look. "No! There's not going to be a next time!"

"Of course," Eric nodded.

On that matter I figured it wasn't safe to trust him farther than I could throw him.

"Well, Sookie—I mean _Michele_," Pam smiled. I wanted to flick her on the forehead. "It is time to get started on your makeover. I have already ordered your work wardrobe—"

"What? Without any input?"

"I sought Eric's input when I needed a second opinion. Although I had to stand firm on limiting red as I feared too much would wash out the effect of your new hair color."

Rolling my eyes, I felt a new wave of indignation.

"I can't believe you two!" I swung around to give equal glare time to Eric. "I'm not your life-sized Barbie doll!"

Eric shook his head and started to laugh silently. "No, you're more like GI Jane." I felt my jaw drop.

"Sookie," I turned back to face Pam. "You heard Eric. It is not for our own amusement we are seeking to disguise you. It is a matter of your safety."

Chagrined, I just stared at Pam. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

Pam smiled a toothy grin. She really was delighting in this part of the plan.

"Yes, Michele."

* * *

**AN: ****The mystery continues. For the record, my fave bit is Pam explaining to Sookie that she won't like Marnie. Hmmm, Pam's line about the doppelganger is good, too. That Pam. Next up: Sookie as a redhead.**

**As always, thank you for reading. Comments welcome. Patience appreciated.**


	8. Just Like That

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta belongs to Alan Ball. I'm just making them solve mysteries.**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious.**

* * *

It was nearly three in the morning when I finally —or maybe I should say Michele Landers—finally left Fangtasia. Yawning since one, I'd even dozed off on Eric's couch at one point. Pam had settled me in Eric's office—complete with towels under my head—to wait for the hair dye to set. Relaxed and warm, I'd fallen asleep only to jerk awake a short while later to find Eric, sitting at his desk with his fingers laced behind his head, watching me. Sleepy, I could barely string together a coherent thought.

"What're you looking at?" I mumbled.

Maintaining his stare, he didn't reply at first. I'd given up on him answering until he finally said something.

"I don't know."

Eric's tone sounded perplexed if not outright incredulous. I didn't understand his reply but I wasn't exactly operating on all cylinders. Since it was nearly the middle of the night and I figured I looked a mess with my hair covered in dye and piled atop my head, I dismissed his comment as being about that.

During my makeover, Pam had told me that any attempts by vampires to change their appearance—by using hair dye or cutting their hair—were pointless because the hair would quickly revert back to its original state.

As I sat in my car, on the way back to Bon Temps, wondering how long it would take for my hair to grow back to its normal condition, I added that facet of life (or death) as one of the pros of being a vampire. You'd _never_ have hair remorse because no matter what you did to your hair, it would immediately fix itself. Eric caught me staring at a lock of my newly auburn hair.

"It doesn't matter." He glanced at me. "You're a beautiful woman. Regardless."

I sighed. I didn't feel beautiful. Not only had my hair been dyed, the decision had also been made to cut it. So now I had shoulder-length red hair. I felt like I could pass for Arlene's sister. It wasn't a good feeling.

"I hate it."

"You look different. As far as disguises go, you look different yet still attractive."

"I just want it to grow back."

"And so it shall."

"Yeah, I know. Just not soon enough to suit me."

"You know we only did it for your safety." Again Eric took his eyes off the road to look at me.

I frowned. His concern over my safety sure wasn't evident in his driving.

"Eyes on the road please."

"Sookie, my reflexes are such, I would never crash."

I had no idea how true that statement was. All I knew was I didn't want to find out.

"Well, maybe that's true," I shrugged. "But it makes me nervous just the same. Car crash. Heart attack. Either way."

Eric kept his eyes facing frontward after that. We fell into a quiet spell after a few minutes. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Then Eric surprised me with a question.

"What are you thinking, Sookie?"

Staring blindly ahead, I considered his question. Really I hadn't been thinking much of anything. A lot of vague thoughts were popping in and out of my head. I was too exhausted to focus on any one thing for very long.

For a while I had been trying to picture in my mind what tomorrow would be like. I was hoping the deliveryman with my new wardrobe would just leave the packages at the door rather than need a signature so I wouldn't have to crawl out of bed too early.

Then my thoughts focused on my physical appearance. Instead of colored contacts, I'd gotten the vampires to compromise by letting me wear a pair of eyeglasses. So I was wondering how long it would take me to get used to wearing eyeglasses. I wore sunglasses whenever prompted by a high sun, so I figured it wouldn't take long.

Next my mind wandered to my new colleagues. Marnie. Maybe Marnie would be sweet. Maybe she was just misunderstood. Maybe she and I would become best buds. Two lonely outcasts. We could bond. Yeah, right. I probably had equal chance of becoming best friends with Chow. That thought actually made me smile. Before I'd left with Eric, Chow had approached me, telling me to come to him if I had any questions about witchcraft after meeting Marnie. Maybe next time Pam does my hair, Chow could join us. Something Pam said made me think she and Chow lived together although I definitely didn't get a sense they were anything other than roommates.

Finally, as much as I didn't want to dwell on it, I found myself wondering about Yvetta. I interpreted Eric's earlier comment to mean that she did work at Fangtasia but I had no idea what she did there. She carried herself with such airs that I thought it unlikely that she was a waitress. High-priced fang-banger? Vamp Take Out? Vial-A-Meal? Suddenly I felt piqued but wasn't really clear on why. I turned my head to look out the window, purposefully hiding my face from Eric's line of vision.

"Sookie?"

"Yeah?" My voice came out sounding a little choked. I pretended to cough, trying to cover up my shakiness. I took a few quiet breaths to steady myself. I didn't want Eric to get the wrong idea.

"Are you all right?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine, Eric," I replied airily. "I know it's like dinnertime for you but it's _way_ past my bedtime and I'm beat."

He nodded, appearing to accept this. Finally we were on Hummingbird Lane. In a few minutes more we'd be turning onto my driveway.

"You need not worry."

"What?"

"Tomorrow will go well. I have a feeling."

I frowned. That was easy for _him_ to say. All he had to do tomorrow was stay in bed until the sun went down. I was the one who had to pry and prod open the brains of a scary Were-witch, a weretiger, and Lord knows what else to figure out who was plotting what against Eric and the supes of Area Five. With a sudden weariness, it hit me anew that the fate of every supe (and telepath!) in Louisiana's Area Five depended upon my ability to distinguish between a real threat and a red herring. Way too belatedly, I recalled Eric's words to Bobby about my being in his _retinue_—the same retinue that was now under siege by unknown forces. Was I in Eric's retinue before I agreed to work at the hotel? I figured I was—since I'd agreed to read humans any time he'd needed me to months earlier. Yeah, whatever this mess was I'd gotten myself into, I was pretty sure it predated my current agreement to work at the hotel. I wish I could say that made me feel better, but it really didn't.

"Sookie, I want to—"

"Oh! I need to text Sam!" Grabbing my cell phone from my bag I quickly sent Sam a message telling him Marnie's last name. Knowing Sam as I did, I figured he'd call me in the morning if he knew anything about her. After learning what she was, I definitely wanted to be as prepared for her as I possibly could be.

"What the…?" I was surprised when my phone rang almost immediately after I hit 'send'.

It was nearly half past three. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Eric's lips draw into a straight line, an indication that he was annoyed. I'm not above admitting I felt a wave of satisfaction at his reaction to Sam's call.

"Sam Merlotte! What're you doing up this late on a school night?"

"Aw, cher. I knew you were up on account of your text, and figured I'd just call you."

Bless Sam's heart. Merlotte's closed up hours ago. Normally he would've been in bed by then. I couldn't say if he was waiting up to hear from me or (more likely) he was just worried and couldn't sleep.

"Ah, well, thanks." I could count on Sam most of the time. We just really needed to find him a steady (both as in recurring and as in not insane) girlfriend. "So do you know her?"

"Actually, no. But I did meet a Mark Stonebrook. A Were too. Very intense guy. Met him at an area business association event some months back. Tall. Built. Beard. Said he was opening a craft store in Shreveport. It stood out in my mind only because I asked him what kind of crafts and the guy obviously didn't feel like answering me."

I chewed on what Sam had told me. "I don't think Marnie's married…" At least Pam hadn't mentioned it and since she was giving me the heads-up on Marnie's Eric lust, it seemed like it was something she would've mentioned. I glanced at Eric and he nodded imperceptibly. I frowned, considering. "Could they be brother and sister? Is that possible? Two Weres? Even if they're twins, one had to have been born first."

"Hmmm." Sam paused. "If they're twins, yeah. They could both be Weres."

"Well, Marnie, in addition to her job at the hotel, also owns a witchcraft shop. If this guy is her brother, then maybe that's the shop he didn't want to talk to you about. Any other impressions of the guy?"

"Aside from, big, brawny, and secretive?" I could hear Sam's laughter in his voice. I laughed too.

"Yeah."

"No, Sook. That's all I got. I can keep my ears open. Maybe ask a couple of folks."

"Thanks, Sam."

"No problem, cher. Anything for you. Just keep yourself safe."

Without warning, Eric's words to Bobby came back to me. _Overarching all tasks is to protect my interests, which includes those in my retinue_.

"Yeah, that's definitely on the 'to do' list, Sam."

"Good. Good night, Sook. Give a call or send me a text whenever, if you need anything."

I smiled. Notwithstanding his relationship with the maenad, Sam was a real friend.

"I will, Sam. Good night."

Suddenly feeling wide awake and a bit light-hearted, I snapped my cell phone shut. Recalling a question I had tucked away earlier, I figured now was as good a time as any to ask.

"Eric, is Jennifer Catar someone to be concerned about?"

"She's in Arkansas'" he replied without moving his eyes from the road. "I've not had any dealings with her. Arkansas is on the guest list for Saturday. She may have just been making an honest inquiry. Or not." He shrugged. "I will advise the queen and see what she says."

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I kept quiet. But, apparently, I wasn't the only one who felt like filling in the silence.

"Did you get anything more from Bobby Burnham?"

I hesitated. What could I possibly say? He has man-love for you?

"Um, not really." I considered. "He may have a little bit of hero worship for you." I said this last bit uncertainly.

Eric shot me a look of bemusement. "You say this like it's a bad thing, Sookie."

Amused, I couldn't help but roll my eyes "You're unbelievable," I said laughing.

He threw me a light-hearted smirk. We settled into a moment of quiet before Eric spoke again.

"Your shifter had news?"

All of a sudden, my good mood seemed to evaporate. I figured Eric heard every word of my conversation with Sam, not just on my end but on Sam's end too. I didn't understand why he'd pretend otherwise.

"No, not really," I replied. No longer feeling like talking, I turned my eyes to gaze out the window once more.

"He knows Marnie?"

"Nope."

"But he had something to tell you?"

"Foof! Whatever, Eric." I was more than a little impatient. Thankfully we were finally at my house. "Here's the turn."

Eric turned onto my driveway. As he drove my car along the smooth gravel, he threw me a subtle, yet smug look.

"Yeah, yeah. I already said I was grateful."

Pulling up in front of the house, Eric put the car in park and turned off the ignition.

"How grateful are you?" He looked at me with that damn gorgeous grin of his. Despite my earlier irritation, I burst out laughing.

"C'mon Eric! How often are you gonna try that line on me?"

Eric snorted in laughter. "Until it works?"

"Now, seriously," I stemmed my giggles. "You've had a thousand years—_thousand_!— to come up with pick-up lines and that's the best you can do?"

Eric raised an eyebrow in surprise at my comment. I expected him to laugh again, but instead he seemed to ponder my question seriously.

"Maybe…" he paused, considering his words. "I'm not looking for it to be a pick-up line," he finished.

I felt something shift in the air around us. Our conversation had definitely crossed over from joking into some other, little-explored territory. Unprepared for it, I felt at a loss. I knew somewhere there was an axiom that would have helped, but I didn't know what it was. Fight or Flight. Sink or Swim. Ask and you shall receive…

"What are you looking for it to be?" I looked straight ahead as I asked this. I dared not risk meeting Eric's eyes. I held my breath waiting for his reply and then had trouble keeping the disappointment from my face as he deftly sidestepped answering the question.

"Maybe that is still to be determined."

Not sure how to reply, I just nodded.

"Sookie," his voice trailed off. "I wonder that your gift—this ability to know what others are thinking—has impaired your ability to know things," he paused, "when you cannot pluck thoughts or hear words."

Curious, I glanced over at him. This seemed to be going back to the train of thought he had alluded to earlier at the club.

"What kind of things?"

Suddenly Eric was unfastening my seatbelt and pulling me towards him. Surprised, my breath caught. My eyes locked onto his.

"Instincts. Desires. Like," he grinned, "knowing when a man wants you."

I held back the retort that was hot on my lips. Instead I replied evenly.

"I know you want me, Eric," I said gently.

"And do I have you?"

"No," I shook my head, smiling. "You do not _have _me."

"Then I keep trying until I do."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Eric leaned in very close to me. Certain he was going to kiss me, I felt my lips purse up of their own accord. But then he pulled away.

"Come on, girlfriend," he made a move to get out of the car. "I need to see you safely inside your home. Pam," he grinned, "instructed me I was to tuck you into your bed."

Confused by his sudden retreat, I let out a nervous titter. Eric climbed out of the car first and then came around to my side to open the car door. Surprised by his chivalry, I chalked it up as another effort on his part to get close to me. Again, I waited for him to make a move but nothing happened. He locked the car doors and, taking my hand, together we walked up the porch steps. I had just unlocked the front door when Eric, suddenly all fangs, pushed me inside. Stepping halfway into the house, he seemed to be using his senses to determine whether or not there was anyone inside.

"Eric, there's no one in here. I can tell."

"What about outside?"

He had a point. I was sensing someone. It wasn't a human. It wasn't a vamp. I didn't think it was a Were. It reminded me of the woman who had lunch with my friend Tara earlier. It was definitely supernatural, whatever it was.

"Get inside," he instructed me. "Make sure all your doors and windows are secure."

"What about you? What are you gonna do?" Yeah, I knew Eric was a big boy—boy, was he—and he could take care of himself—boy, oh boy, could he—but still I worried.

The absurdity wasn't lost on Eric.

"Sookie, I'm going to do whatever is necessary to protect you. I'll be right back."

I nodded. Eric started to move towards the porch steps but paused and turned around.

"What's the matter?" I whispered. "Did you forget something?"

"No," he shook his head. "Not something I could forget."

Then he leaned down and kissed me. I felt heat travel from my lips, straight down my spine, and settle deep inside my core. A warm tingling coated my lips after he pulled away. Well, I'd gotten my kiss and it was wonderful. Eric's kissing prowess (a word of the day that could've been invented for Eric's kisses) was of a caliber only someone with hundreds of years experience could have. I couldn't fault myself too much for enjoying it.

Eric pushed me inside and gestured for me to lock the door and wait. I nodded and soon was safely cloistered inside my locked house. I listened for sounds outside but after hearing Eric slip into vamp speed and flit off the front porch to the back of the house, all seemed quiet.

I was sitting at the kitchen table when suddenly I heard a tapping at the back door. Jumping up, I ran to open the door. As Eric rushed in, I noticed that he seemed a little wild. He devoured me first with his eyes, then with his lips. This kiss made the earlier one seem like a chaste peck from a relative. He pulled my body into his and I felt his length pressing against me. He finally pulled away, giving me an opportunity to breathe. I gasped for air and felt his lips travel along my cheek past my jaw and finally settle at my neck. I tensed imagining what I'd do if I felt him try to bite me. My body reacted with a jolt when I felt his fangs trail along my neck.

"Don't—"

"I wouldn't." Hmmm, I didn't think he would but I still felt I needed to lay down the law. I guess Eric liked the red hair even if he did miss my blonde hair. Absurdly, I giggled.

"What's so funny?" Eric's voice was muffled as his face was still buried in my neck.

"I was just wondering if you'll want to kiss me tomorrow."

That caught his attention. Looking up, he met my gaze.

"Why wouldn't I? What's tomorrow?"

"You know what they say."

"What do they say?"

"Men don't make passes at girls who wear glasses."

Eric smiled and then chuckled. "Is that what they say? I wish I had known this. I would've put you in glasses in Jackson. The Were—"

"His name is Alcide."

"The Were might've been less inclined to make a play for you."

Happy in his arms I could almost —_almost_—convince myself Yvetta had been a figment of my imagination. But I knew better. My playful mood gone, I pushed Eric off me. Surprised, he quirked an eyebrow.

"What was outside? Did you find anything?"

Eric seemed a little mystified over my sudden about-face but he responded to my question, albeit with another question.

"Have you ever encountered a fairy?"

I frowned. I knew Eric well enough to know he wasn't joking. But, I wasn't sure my brain was ready to handle what he was telling me which was that if he wasn't kidding, then he was seriously asking me if I knew any fairies. Why I should be surprised to learn fairies existed when I already knew vampires, shifters and witches existed I wasn't sure. I was really tired and the part of my brain devoted to thinking rationally had already gone to bed.

"No, Eric," I shook my head. "No fairies. I didn't know there were fairies."

"Oh yes, there are fairies and one has been around your home."

"Why would a fairy come to me?" I was beyond confused.

Eric shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps we'll solve this mystery too."

I yawned then. I thankfully didn't need to get up early but I still had a full day ahead of me.

"Eric, you need to go."

"Yes..."

"Well, what's stopping you? I need to get some sleep." The next words out of my mouth confirmed the fact that my brain-mouth connection was really going haywire. At least, the filter was. "I'm sure _Yvetta_ waited up for you."

"Ah." Eric nodded, as if a lightbulb suddenly went off in his head. "Yvetta is dinner and a fuck and nothing more."

I felt my eyes sting as I blinked away tears. "Well, what're you waiting for? I'm sure she's got your dinner and your fuck all warmed up."

Eric let out a humorless snort. "Yes, undoubtedly true. But, I find myself," he paused looking at me, "wanting _something _more." Eric bent his head and kissed me again. I felt a tingle of goosebumps cascade along my flesh and a rush of heat surge to my insides. As he pulled away, I could tell by his eyes that Jovial Eric was back. "I'll let you get your rest now. I must proceed with care. Pam has programmed the sexual harassment hotline into the phone at Fangtasia."

In spite of myself, I laughed at that. "You're like a lecherous old man."

Eric chuckled. "I suppose there is some measure of truth in that." He looked at me and I felt a blush spread across my face.

"Good night, Miss Stackhouse. You were exceptional today. Remember we expect a report tomorrow. Be sure you get all packages that are delivered. Pam took great care with ordering your clothes. There will be other items, as well. I may have Bobby deliver specific items, so don't be surprised if you see him tomorrow as well."

I nodded. Whatever adrenalin rush I'd briefly felt had passed. Eric made his way to the back door.

"Lock it after I leave."

I nodded. "Yes, sir." I was joking but Eric seemed to like the sound of me expressing deference to him. His smile looked smug. I couldn't let it go. "Eric, you know I was kidding."

Eric released an exaggerated sigh.

"I know," he shook his head with mock sadness, causing me to giggle again.

Smiling, he mouthed the words 'lock the door' which I did after he left. Though I went to bed soon after that, I stood at the kitchen door long enough to see Eric thoroughly search the woods once more before finally flying away.

* * *

**AN: This concludes Wednesday. If you had to bet on Sookie becoming best buds with Chow or Marnie, who'd you put your money on? Quinn's coming in soon. ****As always, thank you for reading. Reviews/comments/any feedback welcome! Seriously, I store all your comments in my vault for possible inclusion later...**


	9. Bobby

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball. I'm just giving them all real jobs.**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious.**

* * *

I awoke Thursday morning to a steady stream of sunlight filtering in through my bedroom window. Startled by the amount of sun, I sat upright in my bed and, seeing that it was ten o'clock, promptly panicked thinking I'd overslept. It took me a few seconds to remember that not only would my sleep schedule be different, but the entire plan for my day—as well as for future days —would be different for the foreseeable future. Deciding I had a few more minutes, I laid back in my bed.

My interview with Marnie Stonebrook was scheduled for three o'clock. My plan was to get there a bit early—maybe two o'clock—and find an unobtrusive spot in the hotel lobby where I could just sit, listen in, and see if I heard anything amiss. It wasn't the best plan. I didn't like casting a wide net, but I figured just having the time to observe the goings on at the hotel—before I had to work there— would be helpful. Of course, I'd probably have to report for work right after the interview. But once I was on staff, people would know who I was, where I was supposed to be, and where I wasn't supposed to be. They'd wonder about it if they caught me staring at them. I figured whatever opportunity I had for anonymity would be gone once I sat down for my interview with Marnie so I'd better make the most of my time.

In any event, although I was far from ready to get up—it was slightly past four by the time I tumbled into bed—I forced myself out of bed at the sound of a vehicle coming down my driveway. Looking out my bedroom window, I saw it was a rather non-descript sedan. While I had no idea whose car it was, it still was oddly familiar. That it wasn't a delivery truck meant it wasn't my clothes. Wondering at the identity of my early morning visitor, I threw on a pair of sweats and a loose sweatshirt over my Mickey Mouse nightgown and made my way to the front door. Before swinging open the door, I put out a mental feeler to see if I could figure out who it was. Bobby Burnham. Great. He was just what I needed before even having my morning cup of coffee. I opened the door.

"Good morning, Bobby." I forced my lips upward into a smile. "How's the new job treating you?"

It actually appeared that the new job was not treating him particularly well since he looked like he hadn't yet been to bed. I was pretty certain he was wearing the same outfit I'd seen him in the previous night at Fangtasia. So it seemed that Eric had kept him very busy on his first day. But—peeking in—it seemed Bobby was already counting up his overtime pay, so he was okay with the long hours.

Recalling how late I'd gotten home the night before, I wondered for a brief moment if I ought to get overtime pay. But then I reminded myself Eric was being more than generous with me. I was getting the healthiest paycheck of my life—heck, it was downright robust—and my thinking anything else was just me being greedy and my Gran wouldn't have had any patience for that.

Bobby hadn't yet replied to my greeting. He just continued to stand outside my door looking rather surly. I noticed he was carrying a briefcase, a rather large shopping bag, and a much smaller bag. Though he wasn't a vampire, I still felt wary at inviting him inside. I guess in the same way you wouldn't want to share a lifeboat with just anybody, there's some folks you just don't want to invite inside your home.

Sucking it up, I finally invited Bobby inside. "Won't you please come in?"

Making a face, he still hadn't said a word to me. He just nodded and entered the house.

"What's all this stuff, Bobby? Should we go sit at the kitchen table? Or should we just sit in the living room?"

At the prune-faced expression he'd made in response to my suggestion that we sit in my kitchen, you'd have thought Bobby _was_ a vampire and that he was right up there with Bill Compton in not wanting to be reminded that people have kitchens and need to eat once in a while. I wondered if he survived on health shakes or a liquid diet. Maybe he only drank prune juice and that accounted for his sour look. Maybe he survived on bug innards. I giggled at the idea. At the sound of my quiet snicker, he just turned to look at me with a frown.

"We don't need to sit at a table," he finally replied. "The living room will do just fine."

"All righty, then." I led the way to the living room and directed him to sit on my Gran's old recliner while I sat on the couch across from him. Waiting for him to explain, I just stared at him expectantly.

Setting the bags down on the floor, he sat down on the recliner holding onto the briefcase. Balancing the briefcase on his lap, he opened it, pulled out a manila folder, and then snapped it back shut.

"Here is your new driver's license," he said as he removed a smaller envelope from the folder. "It's not a fake. It's real."

That I didn't understand at all. "What do you mean? How is it real if the name is fake?"

Bobby rolled his eyes like it was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. I felt like punching him.

"It's a fake name but it's not a counterfeit license. It's really from the State DMV."

I made a silent "O" with my mouth. Glancing at the picture, I frowned. "That's a terrible picture of me!"

Bobby glanced at the license and then looked up at me and shrugged. "I think it looks like you."

Now I wanted to kick him. I refrained, satisfying my inner hostility by just glaring at him instead, and refusing to say another word. After a moment, he went on to explain my new driver's license protocol.

"You need to leave your real one home when you're going out. You're just asking for trouble if you carry both."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Of course. I get that."

"You need to memorize the information on that license. The address, especially."

"Whose address is it really?"

"I haven't a clue." He dismissed my question without a further thought. "Here is your resume."

"Oh." I accepted the manila folder from him and made a face at its thickness. I wondered momentarily what the hell Pam was up to until I realized she had just printed up a bunch of copies and it was on thick resume paper, not regular printer paper.

That Pam. Incredibly thorough job search skills. Who'd have thought?

Opening the folder, I glanced at the resume on the top of the pile and smiled. Running my fingertip along the paper, I felt its crisp wove finish. It was a really nice resume stock. When I looked up, I realized Bobby was studying me.

"Is the paper okay?" he asked. "Does it meet with your approval?"

Sarcastic jerk. "Yeah, it's fine." Desperately wanting coffee, I realized I had to get Bobby out of my house. His presence was doing nothing for my disposition and I had a busy day ahead of me. "What are in the bags?

Bobby leaned over and picked up the small one. "This is your Tiffany eyewear."

"Oh," I nodded. I took the bag from him and noticed the blue box the eyeglasses came in. Funny. I knew Tiffany stuff came in a "little blue box" but somehow I'd always pictured a deep royal blue. This was a turquoise. Popping open the box, I removed the eyeglasses and put them on. They felt okay. I figured if I could get used to sunglasses, I should be able to get used to these. The lenses were non-prescription glass so they didn't affect my eyesight at all. Jumping up I ran to the mirror by the front door to take a look. I still wasn't used to the auburn hair but I thought it seemed to fit well with the eyeglasses. I definitely didn't look like the me I was used to seeing, but I thought I looked okay. I returned to the living room.

"How do I look?" I asked Bobby before I could stop myself. Then, although I had an urge to do so, I somehow restrained myself from dipping into his head.

Looking at me, he shifted his head several times so he could peer at me from different angles. Finally he was ready with his assessment.

"I'd say you look maybe a little smarter."

Asshole. It was becoming apparent to me that Bobby had decided to get around the discomfort of my being able to read his mind by antagonizing me so much that I'd never want to read his mind. I couldn't say it wasn't a good idea. If Bobby's primary objective in coming to my house that morning was to piss me off so much that I'd never want him anywhere near me, I'd have to say he was hitting pretty close to the mark. Honestly, he was pissing me off so much, I was ready to stake Eric for sending him over to begin with. Bobby needed to leave and Sookie needed her morning coffee. I decided to push this little visit along.

"What's in the big bag?"

Bobby reached down into the large bag and pulled up a box. At first I thought it was a hatbox but then I realized it was a wig box.

A wig box.

_A wig box?_! I gasped.

"Are you kidding me? Why the heck did they make me cut off all my hair if they were going to turn around and just make me wear a wig _anyway_? I knew those two were old, but I didn't realize they were senile!"

At my outburst, Bobby gave me another unhappy look. Like he'd just walked into the foulest smelling bathroom he'd ever encountered. Irritated by his faces, I decided to delve into his brain. He was thinking I was a freak and that it was a disgrace how disrespectful I was to the vampires. Hmmm. He was trying to cover up his thoughts by singing ABBA lyrics in his head.

"Dancing Queen?" I asked him. His face went white. "You know what I can do, Bobby. You might as well get used to it. We both work for Eric, so we're kind of like co-workers. Might as well get used to each other and make the best of the situation." I just looked at him. "You might want to listen to music you're not ashamed of folks knowing you listen to, while you're at it."

Bobby's facial expression, in the meantime, didn't change. He'd make a good vampire, I decided, given how bloodless he was.

Shrugging, he opened the wig box. Seeing the blonde hair, I reached into the box and felt it. It looked familiar somehow. Uh-oh.

"Bobby, they had a wig made using my own hair?"

"Yes," he nodded.

I couldn't decide whether I was more touched or more creeped out. "Why? Do you know something more that you're not telling me?"

"You are to report to Fangtasia after your shift at the El Dorado each night."

"Yeah," I nodded. "Eric told me to come by tonight." I figured they'd want me to check in regularly. Considering the matter, I let out a breath. I thought I was beginning to see where this was going. "My disguise doesn't mean a thing if anyone spots me going into Fangtasia dressed like Michele Landers."

"Yes."

"I guess I can understand that."

"That's also the reason why you're getting a second wardrobe."

"What?" I was still living in dread of the first wardrobe. Second wardrobe? "What second wardrobe?"

"The second wardrobe is for when you come into Fangtasia."

Well, that didn't make any sense. I didn't understand why I couldn't just wear my own clothes. Pam!

"Why can't I just wear my own clothes?"

Bobby just looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't have an answer for you."

"I'll tell you why! It's because Eric and Pam got it in their heads that I'm their life-sized Barbie doll, that's why!" I had no idea why I was sharing my ridiculous suspicion with Bobby. He just stared at me, with his standard grimace, seeming to ponder it until finally he had something to say.

"Maybe they don't like your clothes." He said this with a straight face. "Maybe they think you walking into Fangtasia dressed in your own clothes is bad for business."

My eyes widened at his _audacity_! [I found my word of the day calendar was really useful in helping me accurately classify the assholes in my life so that I knew exactly why it was I regarded them as assholes.] "Bobby, are we done? I haven't had my coffee yet and I'm feeling like I could really use some."

"Well, there's one more thing."

I didn't even bother to try to keep my eyes from rolling. "What?"

"These are your car keys." He handed me a set of keys.

Thunderstruck, I just stared at them for a few seconds before I could say something. "What? I don't understand! I've already got a car!"

Bobby just made his sulky face at me. "Hold that thought." He opened up his briefcase again and took out an envelope that he then handed over to me.

Looking at the papers inside, all I could do was shake my head. "I was so tired when I signed these last night. Eric didn't explain I was required to use a company car for insurance reasons. I'm sure I would have remembered him saying that."

My buddy Bobby just gave me a blank look. I was really ready for him to go away.

"If you were so tired, why are you so certain you'd remember him telling you that?"

"Bobby, can you just tell me where I'm supposed to get this damn car?"

"Moffitt Volkwagen is delivering it. It should be here by noon. The registration and insurance are in the name of Michele Landers."

"Great. Thank you. Can you show yourself out?"

"With pleasure."

So much for my first day of my new job with new colleagues. So far, I'd take Arlene—even with PMS—over Bobby any day of the week. As trying as that had been, I hadn't even left the house yet. I couldn't imagine what the hotel might have in store for me. Working with Marnie had to be better than dealing with Bobby, right?

ooOOOoo

A half hour later, I sat in my kitchen sipping my second cup of coffee. After broody Bobby had finally taken his leave, I was able to put up a pot of coffee. Ten minutes after Bobby's car pulled out of the driveway, a special courier service truck pulled in. The delivery consisted of three large boxes and four garment bags. My two new wardrobes.

Although I felt a little childish—like I was an impatient ten-year old who couldn't wait for Christmas morning—I immediately tore open the packages. Anxious to check out my assigned clothing, I spread everything out all over my living room, using every possible surface. I draped clothes across the sofa and the chairs and hung hangers on doorknobs and book shelves. I figured I needed to see what I had so I could plan my outfit for the interview.

As it turned out, I need not have bothered. I quickly discovered a really nice black pantsuit with a crisp white shirt that was perfect for the job interview. How did I zero in on that to wear for my first day? Pam had pinned a note to it, which said 'Michele—Wear this for your first day.' I shook my head. I could not believe her. It _was_ a really nice suit, though. Trying it on, it seemed like it was made for me. This thought brought back Bobby's comment about my clothes and an insane thought popped into my head that the whole thing with the bombing and the vamp murders was just a ruse Pam and Eric had cooked up to get me a new wardrobe.

Frowning, I looked at my clothes assignment for later. 'Sookie, Michele would be distraught to change from her nice clothes to your ragamuffin street urchin wear.' I had to stop reading there. _Ragamuffin street urchin wear?_ I wondered if Pam had watched the movie version of 'Oliver' lately. Did Pam even like musicals? She and I never talked about cultural preferences. I guess we were always talking business. Who attacked whom? Who kidnapped whom? That kind of thing. I turned my eyes back to her note. 'Wear this outfit when you come to Fangtasia tonight. It would be best that you blend in.'

Uh-oh. 'Blending in' didn't sound good. I didn't want to blend in at Fangtasia. I pulled the outfit out of the box.

It was black.

Filmy.

Lacey.

Damn that Pam! She knew I wouldn't be caught dead in a nasty outfit like this—it had a plunging neckline and I couldn't even imagine how I was supposed keep the girls indoors. Maybe those pasty things they sell at the drugstore? No! I couldn't believe I was even allowing my mind to wander in that direction.

I decided that since Sookie—_not Michele_—was going to Fangtasia that night—complete, even, with Sookie's hair—she was going to wear Sookie's clothes

Pam and Eric would just have to deal.

* * *

**AN: ****Poor Sook. A new job and she has to start the day with Bobby Burnham. Is anyone else sorry CH offed him? I thought he showed potential. I promise not to kill him off.**

**As always, thank you for reading.**


	10. Sookie Undercover

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball. I'm just giving them all real jobs.**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious.**

* * *

By one forty-five, I was seated in the lobby of the El Dorado Hotel. It had taken me a good hour to complete the paperwork for the car title so I hadn't left Bon Temps until after one o'clock. Thankfully I didn't hit any traffic during my drive. It didn't hurt that "my" new car, an indigo blue Passat, had a smooth six cylinder engine.

My infatuation with the car turned out to be short-lived, blown away as it was by my awe over the El Dorado.

As I entered the hotel lobby, I was immediately taken aback by how gorgeous it was. I found it hard to believe that I'd actually be working there, even if it was only for a short time.

Thick Asian rugs—with red and gold motifs— adorned the off-white ceramic tiled floors. Incandescent columns cast an otherworldly glow in the cavernous space. Architectural details constructed of rich hardwoods—like the escalator handrails and millwork along the ceiling—offset the lobby's off-white walls and décor. The ceiling's scalloped design clearly delineated the large space into distinct areas, separating out the lounge, the front desk, and the escalators. It was so bright it reminded me of sci-fi movies when they try to show the inside of a spaceship.

In contrasting the El Dorado to Fangtasia, I could only conclude that Eric and Pam must have had _absolutely nothing_ to do with the recent hotel renovation. The El Dorado was just too beautiful for them to have been involved. My only insight into either one's sensibilities of interior design was Fangtasia and that place had left me far from impressed.

In any case, from where I sat, in an unobtrusive area set back a bit from the reservation counter, I had pretty good line of vision to the hotel's front desk as well as a relatively unimpeded view of the hotel entrance and much of the main lounge. I couldn't see much of the corridor that led to the gift shop, the spa, or the restaurants, but I figured it was more important that I see who was arriving and leaving the hotel than who was taking advantage of the hotel amenities. While my position was, for the most part, excellent for observing, I found myself at the mercy of every slow-moving group of tourists that milled past.

As I sat there, the ridiculousness of my situation wasn't wasn't lost on me: To anyone who passed, I looked like any other well-dressed woman (with short red hair) reading a romance novel. But actually I was an undercover investigator using telepathy to read the thoughts of those around me to sniff out a bomber.

As it so happened, the description of what I was doing may very well have been _more_ interesting than what I was actually doing.

It took me only a few minutes to catch on to the fact that most of the minds around me were focused on typical travel related concerns. Worries about whether or not their flight was going to be delayed; wondering how much the cab to the airport would cost; anxiety over the speech they were delivering or relative they were visiting. Then, of course, there were the gamblers. They didn't seem overly concerned with much of anything. Since the El Dorado's casino was still closed, they were keeping themselves busy shopping or going to other nearby casinos.

There was a low, constant murmur of voices as people came and went. The recurring sound of wheels rolling along the ceramic floors as porters pushed luggage carts competed with the delicate strings of the classical music that played low in the background. The atmosphere was actually quite soothing and, closing my eyes, I found myself being lulled into a state of relaxation. Forcing my eyes open, I prodded myself to pay attention despite the fact that my psychic canvassing was yielding some decidedly less than titillating results. That was actually an understatement. It was dull, dull, dull. But, as much as I hated casting a wide net, it wasn't like I had any other choice under the circumstances. I couldn't very well approach a random stranger and ask, "So, have you been involved in any attempts to blow up the hotel lately?" Doing something like that would pretty much ruin the whole undercover aspect of the job.

So I sat quietly trying to keep my gaze down and my mental feelers up. Once in a while, someone walking past me would capture my attention and I'd be forced to abandon my pretense of reading and allow my eyes to follow them instead. One person who sailed past me was so tall, slim, and broad-shouldered, I found myself completely undecided on whether or not they were a man or a woman. Bothered by this unresolved question, I trailed them with my eyes, waiting anxiously for the person to turn, so that I could see them properly and finally get an answer to my riddle. The person made their way to the front desk and it was only once they'd situated themselves behind the counter, that I was able to get a good look at their face and see, finally, that it was, in fact, a woman.

I directed my energy towards her and, upon intruding in her thoughts, it was all I could do to keep from making a sound.

First, I could tell from her brain patterns that the woman was a Were.

Next, I saw that her mind was occupied with a mixture of malevolence and desire.

And Eric. I cringed.

Finally, another man's face popped into her mind. I thought going by his looks —tall and with a similar build to her — the man might be her brother.

Contemplating her from behind my book, I saw her, frowning, place a hand on the side of her head and rub her temple as if she had a headache. Then she glanced around intently looking for someone. A chilling thought hit me: What if she knew someone was poking around her brain?

I scooted out of her brain quick as you please. She immediately dropped her hand from her head and, shaking her head, looked around for a few seconds more before burying herself in paperwork.

If that was Marnie —and I'd bet my paycheck that it was— she was not someone I wanted to cross. Not if I could help it. I had never before encountered anyone who could sense my telepathic pings. I would have to be extra careful around her. If she could sense me poking at her brain from across a crowded lobby, there was no way I could use my gift on her. It might even be best to limit my mental scanning when she was nearby. I feared she'd be able to sense my reach-outs even if they weren't directed at her.

I really hoped this unforeseen development with Marnie would not hinder my ability to find out whatever we needed to know in time to stop whatever we needed to stop.

ooOOOoo

As I resumed scanning the room, I periodically glanced back at Marnie to assure myself that she was not detecting my telepahthy. I was relieved to see that she appeared engrossed in her work and seemed oblivious of my mental explorations. I continued my psychic dragnet around the hotel lobby. A half hour passed and nothing of interest passed my filter until I caught wind of something that was just so odd and seemingly out of place, I figured it had to mean something.

A man was running through a shopping list in his head. It was such a bizarre list I couldn't help but wonder about it. He was planning on going to a beauty shop wholesaler on Mansfield Road to purchase a dozen bottles of hair dye and a dozen bottles of something called clear developer. I felt my eyes widen; that was a lot of hair product. He was also planning on buying two dozen bottles of nail polish remover. I found that even more strange. Aside from all that, he was wondering if he'd have time to get to the local hardware store before closing to buy muriatic acid or if he was going to have to go to the 24-hour Home Depot. He was patting himself on the back for having gone to the grocery store yesterday to pick up flour.

I know some hotels have hair salons on-site, but I was almost certain the El Dorado didn't.

Zooming in on the direction where the man's thoughts were emanating from, I tried to match the brain pattern to the person, but an influx of people entered the hotel at the same time and I didn't want to stare at them and draw attention to myself. Instead I kept my eyes focused on the page of my novel even though the words were swimming. Finally I pretended to turn the page just so I could look up.

It was with a slight measure of shock I realized I recognized the small group walking past me just at that moment. There was John Quinn and his sister, Frannie, with her tall, slim figure and short bleached blonde-yet-dark-rooted hair. (Maybe "my" hair stylist was preparing himself to tackle Frannie's hair for its much-needed touch-up?) Hondo Rivera, with muscles of carved ebony, looked slightly different from his personnel photo. He now had a short clipped Afro instead of the longer one depicted in the picture. Bettina Alia reminded me of a honey-bear, which made me wonder just what she shifted into. Jake Purifoy, with his dark brown hair and muscular build, was more handsome in person than was obvious from his photo.

Observing them as I was, I felt a twinge of guilt. It was very strange to actually see people that I'd been briefed on ahead of time. I felt my face blush when I realized the boss, John, was looking at me and smiling. Even though it wasn't like Eric and Pam had told me anything bad about him really, just the fact that I was there to watch him and report back made me feel guilty. The E (E) E crew filed past me and John, I saw, nodded to the woman I had identified as Marnie, before pushing open a set of heavy double doors and leading his group into the casino.

Watching the doors fall shut behind Hondo, I turned my eyes and my mind's eye back to the hotel lobby. Startled, I realized I recognized the brain pattern from earlier; the strange man obsessed with hair products. Fortunately, unlike last time, the lobby was no longer teeming with people. I was able to zero in on the man and track him with my eyes as he walked across the lobby and approached the front desk. Prodding his brain now I heard he was thinking of flowers.

Hair products and flowers?

Staring at the man from behind my book, I saw that he was talking to Marnie. Not wanting her to sense my mental feelers, I skedaddled out of his brain. I still didn't know what to make of the man's shopping list. Something about it struck a chord. It was making me feel like I ought to remember something, but I didn't know what. I decided to tuck it away for later. Besides, since the man was talking to Marnie, I figured maybe I could work it into my conversation with her. Like, "Oh, I was thinking about how I'd like to dye my hair for the next fifty years. Any ideas where I could get dozens of bottles of hair dye cheap?" Yeah. I sighed. I could definitely use some practice on the undercover agent thing.

ooOOOoo

At a quarter to three, I tucked my book back into my bag, and stood up. Glancing around looking for the ladies room, I finally spied a sign. Gathering my belongings, I made my way to the ladies room to freshen myself up for my interview.

Ten minutes later, I stood at the front desk counter in front of Marnie. She was purposely ignoring me as she perused several papers. I cleared my throat. She continued to pretend I wasn't there. I cleared my throat again. No response. Heck! Pam was right. I hadn't even spoken yet to her, and Marnie was already guaranteed no placement on any of my lifeboat lists. I didn't understand how somebody this rude would even bother getting a job in the hotel industry. She seemed to enjoy being _inhospitable_. Recalling how furiously she had looked around for the source of my earlier intrusion, I was very careful to not prod her brain, despite the fact that I really was curious as to what she was thinking.

Finally Marnie looked away from her papers and turned her attention to me. Her complexion was clear and smooth. Her brown eyes did a sharp examination of me. 'Sookie'' would have smiled and said "hello" by now. Michele just met the woman's steady gaze and waited for her to speak.

"You're Michele Landers?"

"Yes."

"It's only two fifty-five. You're five minutes early."

"I thought I'd let you know I was here. I can sit somewhere and wait for you until you're ready for me." I almost smiled but then thought better of it. I decided on the spot I had a better chance of becoming best friends with Chow than with her.

"No," she shook her head, a tight almost-smile-but-really-more-of-a-grimace visible on her face. "Let's go sit over there and get this taken care of."

Wordlessly, I nodded. I turned to walk over to where she was pointing, a section of the lounge appointed with seats and a few small tables.

Marnie gathered up a pen and clipboard. Opening a door behind the counter she spoke to someone within.

"Christian." I noted the curtness of her tone. "I have to interview the girl for the gala coordinator position. You must cover me."

"Certainly," a slightly accented voice replied from within. Then the man came out. He was wearing black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a deep maroon vest. He was quite tall, with a large jaw and dark hair. His small eyes were arctic gray. At his nod in my direction, I smiled pleasantly and nodded in response.

On autopilot, I almost dipped into his brain but stopped myself just in time. With Marnie's heightened awareness of my ability for mental pokes, I seriously feared she would catch on immediately, no matter how brief a dip I took. Since there was only the three of us standing right there, she'd immediately know it was me.

Keeping my mind to myself, I kept my face expressionless as I waited for Marnie to come around from behind the front desk counter. In silence I followed her to the sitting area.

After she sat, I sat across from her. She looked up at me expectantly. "Do you have a resume?"

"Yes, ma'am," I nodded. "I have it right here." I picked up my Franklin Covey tote—I was positive Pam had read about it in Dear Abby— and extracted the folder with the copies of my resume. I grabbed two and handed Marnie one.

Marnie perused my resume quickly. She didn't even seem to really read it.

"So, you have experience as a waitress and bartender at this bar in Bon Temps called Merlotte's?"

"Yes."

"You indicate you've actually done much more than was in your job description."

"Yes, that's right."

"Please elaborate."

"Well, Merlotte's isn't a big place. When Sam—that's the owner—is away, I'm the one who takes over for him. So I handle the vendors, billing, staffing."

"This job is a bit more than that. Do you feel that you're up to it?"

"Oh yes, ma'am," I nodded with an enthusiasm I was far from feeling. "I've been working at Merlotte's for about four nearly five years. I love it there but I just wanted to spread my wings, so to speak."

Marnie nodded. "Obviously, the job is primarily helping to plan and supervise special events. I trust that you know how to operate basic office equipment." She raked me over with her eyes and I got the feeling that she actually wasn't so sure she believed her own words but I fought the impulse to read her thoughts. "Did you organize a lot of events at Merlotte's? Like events where you'd have a setup crew?"

"Well, we had a jukebox there but once in a while we'd have a live band come in or a karaoke night. I was the go to on figuring out how to connect the sound equipment's electrical wires as well as the connector cables to the speaker system."

Marnie's eyebrows actually lifted in surprise. Bitch. I should try to set her up with Bobby. They seemed like they might get along.

"You have a driver's license? You may need it to run errands off-site."

"Yes." I thought it best not to say anything further on _that_.

"The position will include some marketing. Attending trade shows, conferences. Creating flyers. Meeting with potential clients. Is this something you would be comfortable with?"

"Oh, yes," I nodded. "I enjoy being creative once in a while. I love meeting new people. My gran used to always say a stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet." Okay, my brain-filter wiring was starting to fail. I prayed for a change in topic.

"I know you applied for a position as Eric Northman's day person."

Uh-oh. Not this topic. "Yes, ma'am. That's right."

Her eyes peered so deeply into my own, I thought she might be trying to read _my_ mind.

"Did you interview with Eric?"

I shook my head emphatically. "No, ma'am. I only spoke with Pam Ravenscroft on the phone. They seemed to have a better candidate that they offered the position to."

"Have you ever met Eric or Pam?"

"No ma'am."

"You realize Eric and Pam are part owners of the hotel?"

"I gathered that from my conversation with Pam. When she told me about this job."

Marnie nodded. I seemed to be passing her inquisition but my heart had lodged in my throat so many times, I was certain my frayed nerves would become obvious to her.

"You don't have a problem working for vampires?"

I shook my head again. "Not at all, ma'am. I wasn't raised like that."

Squinting her eyes, Marnie seemed to give me a rather dismissive look. I decided then and there that she would be perfect for Bobby. A match made in asshole heaven.

"No. I didn't mean that you were prejudiced against them. I was referring to the hours. The hours for event coordinator positions are usually around-the-clock. This position is even more so given the ownership and primary clientele of the El Dorado. Many events are in the evening or even at night. Sometimes very late at night." Marnie paused. "As this is a new position, the set hours may change if what we initially set up does not work. I am thinking your regular hours would be eleven in the morning to seven-thirty with a half-hour lunch. The hours, obviously, would be different during events."

Wordlessly I nodded.

"Did Pam explain that it was a temporary position that might become permanent?"

"Yes, she did explain that. But she didn't say what it depended on."

"The gala on Saturday is the first event of several that are scheduled in the coming month. The casino renovation was done to make it more marketable for large events. If the renovation attracts more events, then the events coordinator position will become permanent."

"Oh, I can see how that would make sense."

"If you are the successful candidate, we may deem it appropriate to send you for training for various things. Do you understand this?"

"I love learning new things." Lying through my teeth, all I could think was that this was all Eric and Pam's fault. Why did I agree to this? For somebody not susceptible to glamour, I seemed to agree to a lot of bullshit that gets me into trouble.

"Do you have any questions, Michele?"

Why am I doing this? What's wrong with me? Thinking quickly, I threw together a few questions I thought reasonable under the circumstances.

"I've never worked at a hotel before. I understand from Pam that you're the hotel manager and that there's a concierge. What's the difference? So I know—if anyone approaches me with questions—who I ought to refer them to?"

Marnie nodded. "I am the duty manager and I am in charge of everything for the most part. Christian Baruch, who took over for me at the desk, is the concierge. We are in the process of filling a number of positions. We lost several staff members recently."

My eyes widened at her admission. What exactly was she telling me? "Excuse me? _Lost_?"

"We had an incident earlier this week. Certainly you heard of it?"

Oh, that! "Yes, ma'am," I nodded. "The explosive device."

"Yes. Unfortunately, several staffers quit as a result of this. These were individuals who—perhaps—were not as open-minded as yourself to begin with." Was that a compliment? "We need to fill several positions, but with the gala this weekend, we are not in a position to bring anyone new in. While I'd usually be in my office, you'll see me at the front desk more often than not. When I'm not there, Christian will be there."

I nodded. So a bunch of people quit the day after the police found a bomb outside. Here I am coming in to start a new job the day after the police found a bomb outside. I _must_ not be living right.

"Christian, as I said, is the concierge. His primary duties are to ensure the guests' needs are met. Questions about Shreveport, making reservations for amenities at the hotel and outside the hotel, the casino, donors—anything like that go to him."

"Oh, I understand." Thinking back on the earlier part of the afternoon, recalling the man thinking about the hair supplies I decided to just ask. "Is there a hair salon in the hotel?"

Marnie pulled away slightly to look at me. "What an odd question." Oops. "No, there isn't. We have discussed adding one but then decided against it. If we ever expand the hotel, it may come up again."

"Would I be expected to work the night of the gala?"

"Oh, yes!" Marnie nodded emphatically. "In fact, I would advise you to pack clothing for the next few nights in case you wind up here very late. You may just want to stay at the hotel. Especially Friday night. There are usually a few free rooms—rooms that require some renovation or repair and so are not listed as available guest rooms."

Cynically I thought of the rooms that were "blind" to the security cameras where the two vamps were murdered. I shivered remembering. No thank you. I will go home, no matter what.

"Well, that's interesting, Ms. Stonebrook — ."

"Call me Marnie."

"Yes, Marnie. I'd prefer that I go home each night. No matter how late. I have trouble sleeping in strange beds."

Marnie shrugged. "Suit yourself. I often stay overnight at the hotel." Briefly my mind went to Pam's theory that Marnie was always at the hotel. Apparently Marnie may very well always be at the hotel. "Do you live in Shreveport?"

I nearly replied, "No, I live in Bon Temps," when I remembered the address on my driver's license—on Michele's driver's license—and parroted the address on there. "5 Cayuga Trail."

Marnie nodded. "Not very familiar with the area but I know where it is. Off Algonquin Trail, right?"

Why hadn't I looked at a map? I made what I hoped was a noncommittal sound that covered me either way. It seemed to satisfy Marnie as her next comment didn't indicate I was in trouble.

"Well, that's not a bad commute even if you do find yourself going home at three in the morning."

Ouch. I guess Eric really did think I'd make a good vampire, since he had me switching to vamp hours.

"Well, Michele—" Marnie started to speak but was interrupted as the man from earlier—the one who was thinking about hair products — approached us.

"Marnie?"

Marnie made a slight grimace. "Yes, Rafe. What is it?"

"When you're done with this young lady, do you think I could have a word with you? It's about the flower arrangements for the ball."

Flower arrangements? So this guy _was_ in charge of _flowers_? That hardly seemed to gel with his preoccupation with hair products (har de har). Why would he be thinking about hair products?

"Of course, Rafe," Marnie agreed. "Meet me by the counter in about twenty minutes."

"Yes, ma'am." Rafe started to turn. I knew I needed to take every opportunity that came my way.

"Excuse me? Rafe?"

He turned to me. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry. It's just you look so familiar to me. You work in a flower shop?" I wished I could poke his brain but with Marnie right beside us, I was afraid she'd sense my mental prodding. I was limited to just listening to his reply and watching for visual clues.

"Yes, ma'am. Forget-Me-Not on Hearne Avenue in Shreveport. Been there twenty-odd years."

"Oh," I nodded. "Well, I suppose I must've been into the shop at some point then. I usually go to one closer to my house."

"Yes, well," Rafe nodded. "Nice to meet you…?"

"Michele Landers," I supplied.

"Michele is our new events coordinator, Rafe." So I guess I officially got the job. I let out a silent sigh of relief.

"Oh, that's nice. Marnie and Christian sure could use some help around here."

"Yes, I am looking forward to helping out however I can." Lies, lies, lies.

"Come Michele," Marnie stood up. I followed suit. "Let's go back to my office. I have specific information about the ball I need to give you—including the guest list. You can—of course—begin working immediately? Obviously, the ball is a few days away. Every minute counts."

"Yes, of course. I'm ready and looking forward to it." Why hadn't lightning struck me down yet?

* * *

**AN: Thank you for reading! Reviews are more inspirational than Hallmark! ;D**


	11. The Cockblocker

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball. I'm just giving them all real jobs.**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious.**

* * *

A short while later, I was sitting across from Marnie in the office located behind the front desk. Christian Baruch—who I learned was Swiss—had taken over at the desk. Marnie and I were going over the guest list for Saturday's casino gala.

Glancing at it, I realized that there were a lot of familiar names on the list. Eric and Pam, of course, were on the list as were a number of other Area Five vamps. Chow, Clancy, Indira. Some others that I didn't know as well.

Jennifer Catar, the vampire Bobby Burnham met at a business event a while back, was on the list. She was the one who had questioned Bobby about Eric. According to the guest list, she was, as Eric had indicated, from Arkansas. She wasn't coming alone. All told, it looked like there were about four vampires coming from Arkansas. I didn't recognize any of the names. Peter Threadgill. Jade Flower. Henrik Feith.

Then there were vampires coming from elsewhere in Louisiana. Perusing the names and the contact information it seemed as though they were all coming in from New Orleans. Sophie Anne Leclerq—who, according to Pam—was the Vampire Queen of Louisiana. In addition to her there were four other vamps invited from New Orleans. Andre Paul. Sigebert. Wybert. Rasul.

Then there were the vampires that I prayed would not make it. Russell Edgington, the King of Mississippi, was on the guest list. I had spent a night at his mansion the previous fall. Russell was basically a gay vampire version of Hugh Hefner. Or maybe he was more like a rock star. If he attended the gala, I wondered if he'd fly Air Anubis or if he'd make his way in a caravan of deluxe tour busses decorated with heavy velours and brocade tapestries. Russell's "nest" included an army of pretty boys to provide food and "amusement." I snickered at the idea of Russell Edgington traveling around on a Partridge Family-style bus with his Gay Nation Army. The others from Russell's camp who made the guest list were Betty Jo Pickard and my buddy and fashion twin, Curly AKA Bernard. There was one human on the list, Russell's main squeeze, Talbot.

As pleasant as Russell had been when I'd met him —and really, who wouldn't have fond memories of a supe who _hadn't_ tried to kill them?—I really didn't want to see him. Despite his predilection for men, I figured he'd recognize me even if he wasn't interested in me in that way. He would, however, likely be interested in me as someone who had kidnapped a prisoner from his mansion. I'd also killed one of the other guests—Lorena, Bill's maker. I think, in the long run, I'd done the world a service. But I couldn't be sure Russell would see it that way. So I hoped not to see _him_ at all.

Stan Davis from Texas was also on the guest list. I didn't kidnap or kill anyone during my visit to Dallas, but Stan might recognize me. I checked to see if there were any other vampires invited from Dallas. There were a couple of unfamiliar names. Joseph Velasquez and Rachel. Isabel Beaumont, I saw, was not on the list. I wondered briefly how she was and where she was.

Recalling the trips to Jackson and Dallas, I remembered that Eric had kind of gone undercover himself on both those trips. In retrospect, it was the lousiest disguise known to man. Basically he'd braided his hair, put on a pair of glasses, and called himself Leif. Thinking back on it, it seemed rather farfetched that Stan and Russell _hadn't_ recognize Eric, but neither gave any indication that they had.

So, if the vamps from Jackson and Dallas showed up at Saturday's gala, maybe Eric would be in the same pickle as I was! I nearly snorted in laughter but—upon glancing up at Marnie— I swallowed it. Maybe Eric would maintain his charade and dress as Leif on Saturday. Or maybe he'd go as himself. Maybe he could wear a wig. Maybe Pam could cut his hair and then he could wear a wig made from his own hair. We'd see how much he _liked_ it.

As for non-vampires on the list, I recognized Sam's name, Alcide Herveaux and a few –as far as I knew—100 percent humans from the Shreveport area. The mayor of Shreveport was on the list, as were some of the local economic development people, including the folks behind the Shreveport-Bossier Film Trail, the organization promoting the region to the film industry.

Remembering that Sam had said he'd tossed his invitation, I wondered exactly what this guest list meant. These couldn't be the folks who'd said they were coming—unless Sam changed his mind. If Sam was planning on attending the gala, I figured he would've mentioned it last night. _Was this list, then, of everyone on the guest list regardless of whether or not they'd RSVPd that they were attending?_

I had to ask. I had to know if Russell and Stan were coming.

"Excuse me, Marnie?"

Marnie had been looking through some sheets in a folder. "Yes?"

"Is this list of the individuals who said they were coming? Or is this list of everybody who didn't respond yet?

"Some indicated they were coming but most did not respond. The names with a date are the ones who RSVPd that they were coming. The ones without a date are the ones you need to call and find out whether or not they plan on attending." Her tone was a little officious. Like I ought to have known already why she was giving me the list. I was starting to put together a wedding registry list in my mind for Marnie and Bobby.

"Oh, is that right?" I asked. "You hadn't mentioned that there was a problem with the guest list."

"Michele, people often do not RSVP." The condescension in her tone made my eye twitch. "It would be easy to assume folks are not coming–and that's likely the case with the humans on the list. But you cannot make that assumption with vampires. They may intend on coming but may just presume you ought to know that and be ready for them." She shrugged. "Or they just think it's not worth their time to reply."

I could tell it was with effort she kept her tone neutral; her eyes belied a certain amount of bitterness at her observation. Eric-lust or no Eric-lust, this woman did not think too highly of vampires. Although them not responding and assuming you ought to have everything ready for them regardless certainly seemed consistent with the behavior of some of the vamps I'd met.

"Oh," I nodded. "I didn't realize."

"Well, that's the way it is," Marnie nodded. "The phone numbers are here." She pointed to a different list. "With gala events—and many of the events we hold here—it is important that we get an accurate count. Not just for food and refreshments, but also for security. Typically we call a few days before to get a final tally of the attendees."

All of a sudden, Marnie stood up. "I am going to the front desk. There are too many guests expected tonight for Christian to handle check-in alone. Use that phone," she pointed to a phone sitting on one of the desks, "to make the calls and indicate the response you get for each one with the date and the person you spoke with."

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Come find me when you're done." With a final regal nod of her head, Marnie left.

Checking the time I noted that although it was rather late in the day, the vamps wouldn't be awake yet. This meant I'd have to leapfrog around on the list, starting with the humans and other Supes and leave the vampires for last.

ooOOOoo

After two hours of making phone calls—mostly I was leaving messages, even for the non-Supes—I was finally done. Rising from my seat, I stretched. I chanced a peek at myself in a decorative gold-gilded mirror that hung on the wall. The auburn hair was actually starting to grow on me (ha ha). I mean, I wasn't over being startled each time I saw it but I had stopped cringing.

Walking out to the front desk, I immediately noticed Marnie's absence. Wasting no time, I took the opportunity to dip into Christian's brain. I got quite a bit. Apparently he thought he'd be an excellent hotel manager but wound up as a concierge and hadn't managed to climb to the upper rung. He knew Marnie was a witch and he thought she used spells to ensure her own success at the El Dorado. He'd only met Eric and Pam a few times. He thought them weak or lazy—well, well, well— for putting up with Marnie's ways. But, then again, he understood their desire to not incite the duplicitous harpy. (I had to stifle a giggle at his description of her; it was definitely more creative than my label of 'bitch.') In any case, he was relatively happy with his position. He was waiting for Marnie to screw up; when this happened—and he was certain it would— he would swoop in and save the day. He anticipated, at that time, to be rewarded with both the duty manager position and eternal life (guess I could appreciate the man's penchant for thinking big). All this was, of course, assuming we weren't all killed in the next terrorist attempt on the hotel.

It seemed like a lot of thoughts to pass through his mind in just a few minutes time, but I realized quickly that that was pretty much all Christian thought about, on a constant rotation.

Clearing my throat so he knew I was behind him, I smiled at him when he turned around to look.

"Hi Christian." He politely acknowledged me. "Do you know where Marnie disappeared to?"

"Yes," he nodded. "She is in the casino with the events crew." My eyes went to the large double doors I had seen John Quinn and his staff disappear behind earlier that afternoon. "She would like for you to join her. She is going to introduce you to the crew."

"Oh! Of course," I smiled again, nodding. "Thank you." I started to walk towards the doors when suddenly his accented voice called me back.

"Michele." I nearly ignored it before remembering I was Michele.

"Yes?"

Christian was holding up a clipboard with pen. "You should take this with you."

"Oh," I nodded. "Thank you." I doubled back to grab the clipboard.

"You don't want to be unprepared with Marnie."

That struck me as an act of kindness on his part. "Thank you, Christian."

He gave me a slight smile. I really hoped I was right about him not being involved.

Clipboard in hand, I made my way to the casino.

Walking into the huge room, I felt myself catching flies as my gran always said. It's odd to describe a casino this way but I thought it was beautiful. I'd only passed through a casino once before in my life but I'd seen plenty of commercials and magazine articles—gambling is a way of life in Louisiana—but this place blew all those other places away.

Very modern, it was obvious no expense had been spared in the selections as they seemed to be top of the line. Round crystal chandeliers lit up the room. The gaming tables and bar stools were color coordinated in rich earth tones. Deep brown hardwoods provided a distinctive accent to the beiges and taupes. In the far area—closest to the Red River—a stage was set up for live performances or—as in the case of Saturday—for special events and ceremonies. Everything was impeccable. Again it occurred to me that Eric and Pam could not possibly have had _anything_ to do with this renovation.

"Michele." Marnie spotted me the second I entered the room. "I was about to send a search party out to find you. I have a list of things you need to do." I noted Marnie's clipboard. "Before I leave you to them, let me introduce you to the events crew. "

As the room was so immense and I'd only walked through the doors, the group was actually standing a good distance away from me. I smiled awkwardly as I made my way over to them. Marnie was doing a damn good job of projecting her voice. I hustled double-time since I didn't want to scream across the room. I noted the games as I flew past: Slots, Video Poker, Blackjack, Roulette, Caribbean Stud, Let It Ride, Poker Room, Three Card Poker and others. Now that I'd seen the new casino, I wondered how the gamblers staying at the hotel were able to contain myself in anticipation of the grand opening.

"Marnie," I nodded as I finally reached talking distance. "I completed the phone calls. "

"That's good since it's your job." Ouch. Thank goodness this job was only temporary. "In any case, I wanted to introduce you to the crew from Extremely Elegant Events. They actually handle a lot of the vampire events in the area, so you'll be working with them regularly, I imagine. Provided, of course, your performance doesn't give us cause to let you go."

My eyes widened. What a nice way to introduce me to people I was going to have to work with! As much as I hated having to admit to Pam she was right, she was 100 percent right about Marnie. I didn't like her. As a matter of fact, she might inspire a new list: a list of people I'd deliberately push from my lifeboat. The idea of sharing a lifeboat with Marnie led me to wonder how we'd get along if we were stranded together on a desert island. I figured she'd probably use witchcraft to turn me into a bamboo hut or something before I had a chance to beat her to death with a coconut.

"Well, I hope not," I smiled my crazy smile at the E(E)E crew. "I love it here."

"I'm sure you'll do fine." John Quinn bestowed his beautiful smile on me. If Marnie hadn't been standing next to me, I might've swooned. As it was, I just kept smiling.

"Yes, well," Marnie shrugged. "Good help is hard to find."

"Well, give the gal a chance, Marnie."

"Of course," she replied. "Don't have much choice. We lost so many staff because of the bomb threat, beggars can't be choosers."

Okay, this one was definitely much worse than Bobby. I couldn't wait until my stint working for her was over; I wanted nothing more than to kick her ass.

"Anyway, Michele Landers, this is John Quinn."

"Hi." He held his hand out to me. "Quinn's fine."

"Oh, nice to meet you, Quinn." His hand was so large and warm. It covered mine whole. I wished Marnie wasn't standing there; I so wanted to get a glimpse at what he was thinking.

"Michele?" Speak of the witch.

"Yes, Marnie?"

"Take this list." She handed me the top sheet off her clipboard. "I was finding out some of the last minute concerns Quinn had regarding Saturday. Mostly it's the list of spare equipment and contingency items we need to have on hand in case there are any problems. I've been away from the desk too long as it is. I'll leave you to this. When you're done here, stop by the desk and I'll give you a key and show you where everything is kept."

I nodded and before anyone said another word, Marnie made her way back toward the double doors. After she was gone, I unconsciously let out a sigh of relief. I'd be able to do reads of the E (E) E crew now. I realized that since they were all Weres and shifters, my introductory handshake might very well be the best opportunity to get a read on them.

"That good, huh?" Quinn chuckled. Startled at first, I realized he was referring to my sigh of relief at Marnie's departure. I smiled in response. I was starting to like him.

"Well, I'm gonna say welcome aboard. Pay Marnie no mind. I don't know what she's doing in the hospitality business. Woman's about as welcoming as a Black Widow Spider." He grinned. "Allow me to introduce the rest of the crew since Marnie did such a piss poor job of it." I smiled again. "This is my sister, Frannie."

"Hi." Frannie shook my hand but made a face like she wanted to wipe her hand on her pants afterward. Lovely. Ah. Protective of her brother and sees me as some kind of a femme fatale. Hardly. It must be the red hair.

"This is Hondo Rivera." Hondo was tired of this gig. He knew the vamps were E(E)E's "cash cow" but he didn't care for them. His thoughts weren't particularly friendly but they didn't exactly scream terrorist, either.

"Bettina Alia." Bettina was thinking I looked like a scared mouse. I had to control myself from making a face. Just because she can turn into a bear if she wanted to, didn't mean all us human gals were simpering little misses.

"Jake Purifoy." Jake's thoughts were a bit more involved than the others. Ultimately, it seemed that he was thinking about money. He was wondering if the job would be enough to cover some gambling debt he'd accumulated. But he didn't mean this job. He meant another one. That was food for thought…

"Hey, can I get my hand back?" Oops. Lost in my thoughts I had hung onto his hand a tad too long. Hopefully that didn't seem too strange. Glancing around, no one seemed to think too much of it. Quinn wore a slight frown, while Frannie wasa smirking.

I decided to dip into Frannie's brain again for a quick litmus test. Ah. She was thinking good luck to me if I was interested in Jake, since he already had a girlfriend. _Good luck, slut_ was her literal thought. I nearly rolled my eyes. Another bitch. This was why I worked so hard to keep my shields up. Who wants to hear trash talk all the time?

Before I had a chance to abandon my survey of Frannie, the girl's mind went back to her brother. She was worried about her family because Quinn was in debt to some vampires on account of their ill mother. I wondered if this was something new or if it was the situation Eric and Pam had already alluded to. Well, until a conversation came up that provided an opportunity to ask, I was stuck on that subject.

"Quinn, man," Hondo was looking at his cell phone. "Just got a text. We need to meet the contractor at the loading dock. Me and Jake are gonna go."

"I wanna come with you. I need a cigarette." Frannie's comment earned her a disapproving look from her brother.

"I thought you were quitting."

"Baby steps," the girl retorted.

Glancing at Quinn, I sensed his frustration with his younger sister. The troop made their way out towards the door. The honeybear I noted was going too.

"Bettina?" Quinn noticed too.

"I need some air. Cooped up long enough."

"Okay." Quinn nodded. He held up a walkie-talkie type thingy. "Jake, Hondo. Let me know if there's a problem. Ladies, you've got fifteen minutes before I send the search party out."

"Yes, sir," Frannie's tone was sarcastic. Thinking of my own brother, I wanted to kick Frannie for being such an ungrateful little sourpuss. She totally took for granted how wonderful it was to have a big brother who cared about you and took an interest in making sure you were okay. I must've accidentally let my feelings show on my face. As the crew made their way out a 'staff only' exit, Quinn turned to me.

"She's young. She hasn't had an easy time of it."

My eyes shot to his. "Sorry?"

"It looked like you were maybe thinking Frannie was a bit mean to her older brother?" His easy smile followed his words and I responded with an easy smile of my own.

"Um, it just seemed she was a little rude."

"Yeah, but I know she's a good girl, deep down. I don't pay her attitude much mind. Our mother is not a well woman. She got worse as she got older, so Frannie's born the brunt of that."

Meeting Quinn's eyes wordlessly I nodded.

"Do you have a brother?"

"Yeah, I do." Eric, Pam and I hadn't really come up with much of a back-story for Michele, especially her family background. I decided on the spot to go with as much honesty as I could. So I'd be less likely to mess up later. "He's a bit of a tomcat," I paused. "I get the sense you're real protective of her."

Quinn nodded. "I am." He fixed his gaze on me. "So, aside from the tomcat brother, any other men in your life?"

I tried to keep calm but I was starting to think that maybe Quinn was interested in me. I fought the blush that I knew was spreading to my cheeks. Glancing away, I focused my eyes on a painting on the wall. I turned my head to look at him when I heard him chuckle.

"I'll take that as a no."

My embarrassed smile turned into a chuckle of my own. As I watched laugh lines appear around his eyes I thought again what a good-looking man he was. I felt a slight twinge of lust that I worked to push away. I reminded myself that I still didn't know if he or maybe his entire crew was somehow involved in the plot against Area Five.

"You know, I don't usually go for girls in glasses—redheads to boot—but then I've never met you before."

Okay, this was too much flattery. I was totally melting.

"Um, thank you for the compliment." Attempting to will the blush off my face, I again reminded myself what a bad idea it was to get involved with Quinn while I was working here. It would have to wait until later, after the gala. Suddenly, I felt a vibrating in my pocket. My phone. I pulled it out and noting whom it was nodded to Quinn that I needed to take the call.

"Sure thing, babe. One thing. Don't know how busy Marnie's aiming to keep you. There's a final coordination sit-down with the vendors tomorrow. You should be there."

"Who's gonna be there?"

Quinn let out a breath. "Everybody. Deejay..."

"Flower guy?"

"Yeah, Rafe will be there."

"Hmm. Yeah, I guess I should be there. What time?"

"Late afternoon. We don't have a set time yet."

"Oh, okay. Thanks Quinn," I nodded.

"Anytime, babe." He smiled at me again and it sparked a smile of my own.

I began my long trek from the room. Finally on the other side of the double doors I released the mute button. I'd actually flipped the phone open when the call first came in, but had hit the mute button rather than answer it. Vamp hearing notwithstanding, mute was mute, right? As for it being a bit rude, the vamps didn't seem to have the best telephone etiquette themselves. I figured Pam would understand that I couldn't talk when the call came in.

"Hello?" Looking around I made sure there was no one within earshot.

"Sookie, it is just as well I am already dead as I would certainly have died of boredom had you kept me on hold any longer."

I frowned. "Pam, it wasn't that long. Besides it's not like your phone manners are all that great yourself. You never say goodbye; you barely say hello."

"Yes, well. We don't like to waste time."

Hello? Immortal? Waste time? "Anyway, what do you need?"

"I wanted to ask if you remembered your wig."

"Um, yeah, I have it." Did I remember the wig? How could I possibly forget the wig? "Pam, why'd you have a wig made using my own hair? That's just so…weird! If you were going to have me wear a wig anyway, why couldn't we just leave my hair on my head and I'd wear a wig to the hotel instead?"

"Sookie, if your wig falls off, it is better for you to be exposed in Fangtasia, than at the hotel. Trust me."

I chewed on that for a second. Damn. "Okay, I guess I can see that logic."

"Anyway, how are you getting along with Marnie?"

What could I possible say about Marnie? There was no way around it. "You were right."

"Yes? How so?" I could hear the smug in her voice.

I rolled my eyes. Leave it to Pam to drag it out. "I don't like her."

"You will have to remember that I am an excellent judge of character. You should listen to me more."

Pam said this like she routinely doled out thoughtful advice to me on people I ought to befriend and I just willfully ignored her to my own detriment. I felt like pointing out how ridiculous that notion was but I figured it wasn't the right time.

"Sure thing, Pam."

"Did you remember your change of clothes?"

"Yeah, I have that."

"Do you have your new coat?"

The coat. For some reason there were two. Identical, one was navy and one was cranberry red. Really nice, they had removable liners, detachable hoods, and tortoiseshell buttons. "Yeah, I've got the coat, Pam. But there must've been a mistake. There were two."

"No mistake. The cranberry is for Sookie. The navy is for Michele."

I rolled my eyes heavenward. Eric, Pam and their Dress Up Barbie Games were really making me crazy.

"Do you foresee any problems getting to Fangtasia by eight?"

Hmmm. Marnie hadn't said what time I could leave. If my regular end-time was seven-thirty, I decided to assume I'd leave at that time today. Even though I started late, it didn't seem reasonable to keep me too late on a first day.

"No, I don't, but I'll have to check with Marnie."

"Yes…" Pam's voice trailed off. "Well, we shall see you shortly then. Is there anything immediate you need to report?"

My mind went to the hair salon products. "Yeah, Pam. I think so. I listened in on the florist and he was running through a shopping list and it was all these hair dyes and hair salon products."

"So?"

"_So_? There's something off about a 40-something year old man who works as a florist going and buying dozens and dozens of bottles of hair dye."

"Perhaps he is a lothario hoping to woo women by styling their hair. I saw a film with such a character many years ago."

What? "Pam, I don't think so. That doesn't make a whole lot of sense."

"Oh, I see your point." Pam fell quiet. I thought –hoped—maybe she was figuring out what I was missing but her next words didn't provide any reassurance. "Perhaps, instead, he is a lothario hoping to woo _men_ by styling their hair."

"What? Pam, stop with the 'wooing' business. Nobody 'woos' nowadays."

"Really? I'll have to inform Eric."

Eric? What? Who was Eric wooing? "What do you mean?" I swear if she was trying to make me crazy, it was working.

"Nothing. It is just as his child and his lieutenant, it is my responsibility to assist him."

"With wooing?"

"With whatever he requires assistance."

"Oh." I fell silent. It was hard to imagine Eric requiring assistance for anything, much less "wooing".

"Pam, Marnie'll be looking for me soon. I've got to get back to work."

"Yes, Michele. We shall see you soon."

"Bye Pam."

Click.

Even after scolding me for bad phone etiquette, she still didn't say goodbye.

ooOOOoo

Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was nearly seven o'clock. After tracking down Marnie, I had settled down in the storage room where they kept all the miscellaneous audio/visual equipment. They actually seemed to run a pretty organized shop at the hotel. They had forms to identify the various pieces of equipment and they smartly had diagrams on the forms so that if you didn't recognize what something was by its name, you could try to match it by the drawing. I sincerely hoped someone other than Marnie had thought of it.

I'd done an inventory and had grabbed all the items on the list from Marnie, so I figured now was a good time to break and hopefully get out of there. Leaving the room, I locked it behind me—Marnie had given me a set of keys—and made my way back to the front desk.

"Christian," I nodded at the Swiss man.

"Michele," he smiled. I was starting to appreciate his old world charm. I wondered what had happened to Eric's old world charm. Maybe he'd never had any? "A fine first day. I should think it would be time for you to go."

Nodding, I silently agreed with him. "Yeah, I was just thinking that very thing. Do you know where Marnie is?"

"Marnie has already left for the evening."

"Oh?" That surprised me. I really thought Pam had her pegged. "Actually, that reminds me. I was wondering what you all are going to do for coverage at the front desk? Seeing how so many folks quit?"

Christian sighed. "Well, we will refill the positions immediately but we do not have time to do so this week given the gala. We are making do with several additional long-time staffers putting in extra hours."

"Can't you just have a staffing agency find folks for you?"

"Yes." He closed his eyes briefly. "Marnie doesn't trust anyone but herself to hire staff."

Hmm. Marnie's a control freak that refused to delegate. "Oh, well, I can see how that would make things difficult."

Wordlessly, he nodded.

"Hey babe." I turned around.

"Hi Quinn." Smiling, I tried not to blush.

"We were heading out for the night." His eyes met mine. I thought their color—a deep purple—was fascinating. "I didn't know if your day was done or not but I wanted to ask if you might be interested in getting dinner."

I felt my jaw go slack. I was in shock.

Quinn misunderstood my reaction. "Hey, it's no big thing. There's a lot of restaurants around for cheap eats. Nicer places too. Ralph and Kacoo is the place to go for crawfish etouffee. Your pick if you like. Bettina, Hondo and Jake are all taking off. It was just gonna be me and Frannie. And you if you say yes."

I opened my mouth to speak but the words died on my lips. My only boyfriend ever had been Bill. I was pretty inexperienced at dating. The folks I was usually around—the regulars at Merlotte's—thought I was crazy. Nice guys never asked me out on dates. I usually just had guys make crude comments and hit on me.

"You all right, Michele?" Quinn lowered his head to gaze into my eyes.

"Um, yeah" I nodded. "I'm fine. You just caught me off guard."

"Good way or bad way?"

I smiled. "Good way."

Quinn returned my smile and I felt something inside me skip a beat. Suddenly I felt a vibrating in my pocket. No! Pam! I tried to ignore it but Quinn could hear the buzzing.

"You gonna get that?"

Wincing, I replied. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Popular gal."

My eyes widened to saucers. "No, I'm not. Really. I'm not. Just when I'm trying to talk to you it seems. Excuse me."

Pulling out the phone, I flipped it open and wandered a few yards from where I left Quinn and Christian standing on either side of the front desk.

"Hello?"

"This is Bobby."

What? I hadn't even checked the caller ID, I was so sure it was Pam.

"What is it?" I whisper-hissed. This was not a good time.

"Eric wants to know if the car met with your satisfaction."

"What?"

"Eric wants to know—"

"Yeah, yeah. I heard you. I still don't understand."

"Eric" pause "wants" pause "to know"—

"Listen Bobby, I'm not in the mood for your crap right now, you get me? The car's fine. I'm heading over there in like," I glanced down at my watch, "five minutes. What's the emergency that this can't wait five minutes?"

"I don't have an answer for you. I was instructed to call."

My eyes squinted. A suspicion was starting to form in my mind. "Did Eric tell you to make this call _earlier_? Or did he just tell you _now_?"

"I just received a text with instructions."

Hmmm. I had told Quinn I only got phone calls when I was trying to talk to him. I had been joking but now I wasn't so sure. Two calls out of the blue — both coming in when I was talking with John Quinn.

It could _not_ have been a coincidence.

Eric! I just _knew_ he did it on purpose.

"Listen up. The car's fine, which is a good thing 'cause I'm gonna need it later to run over Eric."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. You have a good night, Bobby."

"Yeah, you too."

Click.

Well, at least Bobby's telephone manners were marginally better than the vampires'.

In the meantime, as I wandered back to the front desk, I considered my suspicion. I had had Eric's blood a couple of times over the past six months. Because of this, he was attuned to my feelings and emotions. Feelings and emotions which today had included a twinge of attraction to John Quinn.

Yep, the more I thought about it, the more certain I was that it had not been a coincidence that first Pam and then Bobby had called when I was talking with Quinn.

I was so going to let Eric have it when I saw him.

That giant fly in my ointment was cockblocking me.

* * *

**AN: As always, thank you for reading. And reviewing! **

**PS: I know you're all wondering who inspired 'Marnie'. That would be my former supervisor at the NYC Dept of Crazy. Pam's movie reference is 1975's "Shampoo" starring Warren Beatty. This Sook listens to the White Stripes (hence the "Seven Nation Army" reference).**


	12. Sookie's Plan

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball. **

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious.**

* * *

Checking my irritation over the whole Bobby phone call, I returned to the front desk to tell Quinn I'd have to take a rain check on dinner. I really hoped we'd have a chance to talk outside the hotel at some point, but I recognized it would probably have to wait until after Saturday.

"No problem, babe. I get that it's last minute and it was your first day. Marnie's a piece of work, too. You've definitely got my sympathies with her," he grinned at me. "Maybe you just want to crawl home and enjoy a big drink. I know that would be how I'd like to end my first day working for her."

Relaxing, I laughed. "Marnie's all right." Lies. Lies. Lies. "I think everybody quitting and the bomb threat would put anyone in a bad mood."

"Yeah, fair enough," Quinn nodded. "Except she was a she-bitch before this week," he shrugged. "Maybe she'll mess up. Christian's been angling for her job. Probably would be better at it, too."

"Oh?" The fact that Quinn was aware of the goings on behind the front desk was a little surprising; maybe there was something more to Christian? "What makes you say that?"

"Nothing really. It's just Marnie has a tendency to piss off staff. Even before the bomb, this place was pretty much a revolving door. Her iron hand seems to rub folks the wrong way a lot."

I nodded. "Oh," I smiled wryly at Quinn. "Glad to hear it's not just me."

"No, no," he shook his head. "Not just you, babe. Don't worry about that. Anyway, I'm gonna go rustle up Frannie. You had a long first day and need to rest up." He nodded decisively. "Have a good night, you hear?"

Smiling, I nodded. "Yeah, you too, Quinn. Thank you for everything today." I hesitated. His good-natured friendliness meant a lot to me today. Dipping briefly into his head, I got the sense only that he was genuine. "Thanks for being so nice to me."

Quinn smiled his broad smile. Crinkle lines played at the edge of his purplish eyes. "Anytime, babe." With a final nod and a couple of long strides, he made his way back to the casino. I followed him with my eyes until the doors shut behind him.

Wandering back to the front desk, I saw Christian was handing desk duties over to a woman I'd not yet met. I snuck in quietly behind them and grabbed my handbag from the back office. Christian was explaining things about the front desk and I didn't want to disturb them—and since Christian didn't stop to make introductions—I took that as my cue to leave. It was already past seven thirty and I needed to get to Fangtasia. I nodded a quick 'goodbye' to Christian and the female staffer and headed out to the employee parking lot.

Although I'd told Bobby I'd be leaving directly for Fangtasia, it occurred to me belatedly that I'd have to make a pit stop first. I needed to go somewhere to change into my next Barbie outfit. I figured using the El Dorado's ladies room wouldn't be a smart move.

Considering, I finally decided I'd go to the Mall St. Vincent. It was a little out of the way—Fangtasia was basically two blocks from the hotel—but I needed someplace where I could blend in. I couldn't very well change in a gas station ladies room and hope not to draw attention.

My plan was to remove the eyeglasses and put the wig on _before_ I went inside—this way the mall security cameras didn't show a redhead going inside and a blonde coming out. I watched enough true crime TV to know that that _always_ caught people's attention. I figured I'd find a secluded area of the parking lot so no one would notice the strange lady putting a wig on in her car. Then I would change my clothes (and secure the wig better) once inside the mall.

As I got into "my" car and started out for the mall—located on St. Vincent Avenue—I realized I'd never actually been inside Mall St. Vincent. Relatively new, I remembered when it had its grand opening. But it was way too expensive and upscale for me. Coach. Banana Republic. Abercrombie and Fitch. Who had $300 to spend on a handbag or $80 to spend on a t-shirt?

ooOOOoo

Finally done with the mall, I felt a little guilty as I left. I knew from working at Merlotte's how annoying it was for workers when folks went into a business only to use the restroom. Despite the guilt pangs, I did what I had to; I'd pinned my wig and changed into a pair of jeans, a cotton button-down shirt, and a pair of sneakers. I had worn the navy coat to work so Pam was just going to have to deal with Sookie wearing Michele's coat. As it sank in that I was wearing all my own clothes—even my own, albeit slightly creepy, hair—I felt a bit more like myself.

My trip to the mall and back took about 45 minutes. I nearly pulled into the Fangtasia parking lot, but then, remembering how important it was to keep things separate, I decided last minute to park the car on the street and walk around to the bar entrance. Although the streetlights cast only a dim glow along the sidewalks, I didn't worry about the darkness. I could sense others' presence regardless of my being able to see them; I'd just put my mental feelers out.

As I turned the engine off, something flitted through my mind. I needed to call Jason for our nightly check-in and it occurred to me that it would be better to call him then rather than to wait until later.

"Sook?" I guessed he'd programmed my number into his phone.

"Yep, it's me. Sorry I'm calling kinda early tonight—"

"Not a problem. Actually I've got a date tonight so talking now is better anyway."

"Oh." My brother was never single for long. "You're not back with Liz are you?"

"Hell, no! Girl's gotta learn some manners! Met a new girl. Her name's Crystal. Actually that reminds me of something I needed to talk to you about."

"In a minute, Jase. First, I wanted to ask you something. What would you say if I told you I dyed my hair?"

I waited for his reaction. All of a sudden, I heard an intake of breath.

"I'd say what the hell would you do that for? I guess your head's flammable now."

I felt my throat go dry. This was what I'd been struggling to remember. "Jase, tell me why my head's flammable."

"I told you last night about that article I read in Kevin's homeland security magazine. They arrested this guy 'cause he bought a ton of hair dye and a bunch of nail polish remover and flour—_you girls are dangerous_—and he was gonna make a bomb. A real powerful one too."

Horrified, a chill ran through me. "What about muriatic acid?"

"Oh yeah. Forgot. That's like the one man ingredient. You girls handle most of the bad stuff."

Only my brother would turn bomb making into a battle of the sexes.

This was not good. This meant Rafe the florist was definitely in on the plot. It was _critical_ that I have an opportunity to listen to his thoughts. So far I'd only been permitted a couple of peeks into his brain. Quinn said Rafe would be attending the final coordination meeting tomorrow. I could only hope that Marnie wouldn't. Aside from the fact that I hated her, I couldn't read minds with her nearby. The risk was too great that she'd catch on.

"Jase, thanks for the info. Do you remember if the article said anything about how the bombs worked? You know like how you make them explode?"

"What do you mean? Like if they can be detonated from a distance using a remote?"

"Um, yeah." Truthfully, I had no idea what I was asking; I just figured I should ask questions.

"No, it didn't say. They're pretty careful not to give away too much."

That made sense. Glancing at the dashboard clock I realized I was well overdue at Fangtasia.

"Jase, I gotta get going. Thanks again. You were a big help."

"Oh? I was? Maybe you could cut me in for giving you a lead. You know they do that on _America's Most Wanted_."

I rolled my eyes. My brother was incorrigible.

"I'll mention it to Eric and see what he says." I was joking.

"Okay." Leave it to Jason to not catch on to my sarcasm. He was quiet for a moment—giving me a false sense of security —before he spoke again. "So anyway, before you go, about the new girl I'm seeing—"

"Crystal?"

"Yeah. Crystal. Her uncle is a high up at Norcross. He was invited to the party at your casino on Saturday—"

Oh, this wasn't sounding good.

"He's got no interest in going so he gave Crystal his ticket and she can bring a date. So guess who's gonna be at your swanky party?"

I groaned. "No! Jase! No!"

"Why not, Sook? You think your big brother's not good enough for your fancy parties?"

I couldn't believe Jason was picking now—of all times—to develop an interest in going to 'fancy parties'. Sometimes it just seemed to me that I had the worst luck.

"No, Jase! It's got nothing to do with that! It's just that it's gonna be dangerous!"

"You're gonna be there, aren't you?"

I frowned. He was right. _I was going to be there_. Point taken. How did I get myself into these things? Was it possible I might find myself in _less_ danger if I were glamourable? I sighed.

"Yeah, I'm gonna be there. But I'm gonna be working, Jase! The people there—it's not gonna be fun, Jason." Trying to envision Stan Davis and Russell Edgington partying with my brother, I rolled my eyes. "Really, Jason. The folks that are going to be at this thing —_they're not__ your kind of people_."

"Sook, I don't know why you're so against me going to this thing."

"Jason, it's not that I'm against you going! It's just it's gonna be real dangerous if we can't figure out what's going on!" I decided to try leveling with him. Maybe it was another Wheaties day. "Jase, I'm already gonna be worried about me. I don't need to be worrying about you as well."

"Sook, you don't have to worry about me. I know how to take care of myself."

Nope. No Wheaties that morning. "Jase, it's going to be dangerous—I don't mean chairs slammed on peoples' heads! I mean bombs, fighting vampires, angry witches—"

"Whoa there, Sook! You telling me there's such a thing as witches?"

Might that keep him away? "Yeah, Jase. There's really such a thing as witches."

"We got 'em in Louisiana? Wow." I prayed in my head as he fell silent. "Do you know any?"

Did I feel like explaining Marnie to my brother? No.

"No, I don't know any, Jason. I'm learning about them though. They're like normal people" except when they're Weres, "who just practice witchcraft."

"Oh." He fell silent again. "So you're afraid of some normal people ruining your party and you don't want me to come because of it?"

Boy, his dial was really cranked to whiny tonight. I had been trying not to say too much but the bomb threat was all over the news; it wasn't my fault my clueless brother stopped paying attention to the local news the second the police dropped him as a suspect in their serial killer investigation. "Jase, I'm seriously afraid a _BOMB_," I emphasized the word, "is going to play a starring role at the function; that's why I don't want you there. I'll worry about you if you're there."

That shut him up. I waited with bated breath. I hoped the seriousness of my tone would convince him.

"I guess I can understand that. I'll see if I can change Crystal's mind. She's pretty excited about seeing the new casino. You know it'll be the biggest casino in Shreveport, Sook?"

I let out a sigh. I didn't think a word I'd said had actually penetrated his brain. Maybe I could ask Eric to glamour Jason so he wouldn't go? I knew I'd worry about him all night if he was there. My brother doesn't have the sense God gave a goose some days.

Maybe if Sam went, I could seat them together and Sam could use his common sense to get my brother out of there if—_no make that when_— the time came.

"Jase, I gotta go."

"Yeah, Sook. Me too. Crystal's coming over."

"When did you meet her, anyway?"

"Before New Years. Only saw each other a couple of times, but we met up at a new bar opening in Monroe the other night and something clicked. I really like her."

I'm up to my eyeballs in danger—again—and my brother just continues to date up a storm. I must not be living right.

"Yeah, well. Good luck with that. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Yep, good night, Sook. Be careful."

I smiled grimly. "I will. Thanks, Jase."

With a final goodbye to Jason I hung up and got out of the car and made my way to Fangtasia.

ooOOOoo

As I walked around to the front of the bar, I played over in my mind my most overwhelming dilemma. Well, my most overwhelming dilemma that didn't involve my pigheaded brother.

I needed to make sure I could read Rafe the florist. If Marnie attended the coordination meeting, that might prevent me from being able to read the man's mind. But what if I didn't let her presence deter me?

Hmmm, what would the bitchy witch do if she discovered I was a telepath?

If she flat out attacked me, I was fairly certain Quinn would stop her. As a Were, she'd be physically strong, but Quinn, as a tiger, should match her physically.

But then she could always just resort to her witchcraft to do God knows what. This reminded me; I really needed to follow up with Chow on my "Witchcraft for Dummies" tutorial.

Regardless of whether or not Marnie actually hurt me—and I sincerely hoped she wouldn't get the chance—even if all she did was "out" me, that would still throw a serious kink in the plan to uncover who was behind the plot. If everyone at the coordination meeting discovered I was a telepath, I'm not sure what exactly would happen but they'd probably all be suspicious of me and take care to avoid me. Oh yeah, Marnie would probably fire me, too.

We needed to get Marnie away from the hotel. We needed to come up with a plan to entice her off-site.

If the coordination meeting was held after sunset, maybe Eric could distract Marnie. Maybe Eric could seduce her. Pondering the idea, I snorted with laughter. It would serve him right. So far, I was the one doing all the dirty work. I let them cut my hair. I'm wearing a creepy wig made from my own hair. I'm sneaking around like a criminal, changing my clothes in mall bathrooms. I'm working for Marnie who could give Debbie Pelt a run for her money on the Bitch-O-Meter. Not to mention dealing with that asshole Bobby. Let Eric do something. Mr. Big High-handed Cockblocker.

Approaching the door, I saw the vampire on door duty was one named Gerald who I'd met once or twice before. Gerald looked about thirty, but I'd heard him refer to Prohibition once as if he'd lived through it.

"Hi," I nodded to him. I didn't know if I ought to just skip to the front of the line or not. There were only five people on line.

Gerald gestured for me to come to the front. I skirted past the fangbangers on line—careful to ignore their thoughts—and walked in past Gerald.

"They're waiting for you in Eric's office."

"Thank you." I made my way down the hallway to Eric's office without sparing more than a cursory glance inside the club. Still early, there weren't too many folks there. A good portion of Fangtasia's customers consisted of tourists from the Midwest; I noted with satisfaction that they wore jeans and shirts no different from my own.

Standing in front of Eric's office, I lifted my hand to knock on the door when Pam swung it open.

"Sookie. You are late."

"Geez, Pam. Nice to see you too."

"Why are you late? Why do you dawdle in our hallway?" She took in my appearance. "Why are you not wearing one of the lovely outfits I selected for you?"

My eyes widened. Where to start? "I didn't factor in that I'd have to find someplace to change. I wasn't dawdling; I move at a human pace. Not your vamp speed. And no way was I gonna wear those nasty fangbanger get-ups! Besides, I've been to Fangtasia before and I've always worn my own clothes. It would look weird if I suddenly was dressing like a fangbanger."

Pam, obviously piqued, squinted her eyes at me. "I had not considered that. Regardless, now I owe Eric $20."

"You two bet on what I'd wear?"

"Of course. You are our one constant source of unpredictability."

I rolled my eyes. I was a "constant" at being "unpredictable." "Can we get on with our meeting?"

Eric spoke for the first time from where he sat at his desk. "Pam, let Sookie come in."

Pam moved away from the doorway. I entered the office and sat down in the chair across from Eric's desk.

Eric glanced up and met my eyes. "You have been busy today." His eyes were glacial. He didn't seem altogether happy about my busy day.

Wordlessly, I nodded.

"I hear from Pam you have much to report."

I looked back at Pam who smirked at me before shutting the door and settling on the couch.

"I assume you mean the stuff about the florist?" I asked.

"Yes, of course. What else would I be referring to?" Eric's face was unreadable. I just knew he was responsible for the phone calls. He was tuned into the Sookie Channel and he knew I was a little attracted to John Quinn and he thought because he was paying my paycheck, he had the right to interfere. I figured I'd rail him on that later; right now we had a bomber to discuss.

"Okay, so Pam told you how the florist was thinking about all this stuff and how I thought it was weird?"

Silently he nodded.

"He's making a bomb. Those are all bomb ingredients."

Eric's face didn't change. He knew this already.

"I'm not telling you anything you don't already know." I observed.

He nodded. "Pam did not recognize the nature of the chemicals you indicated, but I did." He gave me a half smile. "As did you, apparently."

I shook my head. "Not really. My brother knew about it. Not me."

Eric's eyebrow shot up in surprise. "You have confided in your brother of your investigation? You told him you are working for us?"

I frowned. Was I supposed to just leave Merlotte's and not tell my brother where I was? Heck, what if I went missing? Didn't I have the right to let my only family know where to look for me? Or—_more likely_—my remains? I targeted my answer to what I felt was the most appropriate response.

"Actually, I mentioned I'd dyed my hair," I glared at Pam before turning back to face Eric. "He warned me my head was flammable now. We kinda got on the right track from there."

Silently, Eric nodded. Annoyed, I was starting to think maybe Jason did deserve something.

"You know, sometimes the authorities offer a reward to folks who help provide clues."

"Yes?" Thoughtfully, Eric looked at me.

"I'm just saying. He did help."

"The information he provided was nothing that I did not already know. If you insist that he deserves a reward, I will think on it." Eric tapped his desk with his fingers a few times. "Done. No."

My mouth kind of fell open for a moment. Bringing my lips together, I scowled at him. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the coffin.

"Regardless," he smiled at me. Jerk. "Did you detect from his brain any sense that the man had been glamoured?"

I shook my head. "No. But I couldn't read him as much as I would've liked."

"Why not?"

I sighed. "Marnie could sense me."

That garnered looks of surprise from both Eric and Pam.

"You mean she could sense your mental prodding?" asked Pam.

"Yep."

"Have you encountered this before?" Eric looked at me curiously.

"Nope," I shook my head. "First time. Scared me. She seemed to sense me prodding her from across the hotel lobby. I was afraid to try to read anyone when she was close by."

Eric nodded. "Understandable." He was staring at me speculatively. I figured it was time to get us back on track.

"Listen, so there's a meeting late tomorrow —John Quinn told me about it. It's a last minute coordination meeting with all the vendors. Rafe—that's the florist—will be there. As long as Marnie isn't there, I'll be able to read him and everyone else at the meeting. I figure this will be the best opportunity—_maybe the only opportunity_— to find out what all these folks know…" I let my words trail off. Eric and Pam were both looking at me. Okay, here's the part of my idea that Eric won't like.

"Um, I think _we,_" I really tried to emphasize the word, "need to figure out a way to get Marnie out of the hotel during the meeting." I switched my gaze from Eric—whose expression was inscrutable— to Pam, whose lips were starting to twitch at the corners; she knew where I was going with this.

"You think Eric ought to lure Marnie out?" asked Pam. I couldn't decide if she was asking to be helpful or asking for her own amusement; I figured ultimately it didn't matter.

"Well," I nodded, all businesslike. "I think we definitely would be better off with her outside the hotel. Any way we can think of," I focused my eyes on Eric, who continued to look impassive, "to get her out of there would be good."

Finally, Eric's impenetrable face started to show some reaction. He frowned. "Pam, did you put Sookie up to this?"

"Eric, please. You're always saying how she thinks outside the box. She's just surprising you because she thought you inside a box, for once." As Pam laughed, I felt my heart lodge in my throat. Bracing myself, I turned back to look at Eric. I was relieved to see that his lips were twitching.

"Obviously," he cleared his throat. "We need to ensure no bombs are detonated. While we could seize the florist—it is likely that the floral arrangements will be used to house the explosives— this would leave us not knowing who else is involved. Taking him out eliminates our one clue, our one link to the rest of the plot."

"_Taking him out_?" I repeated frowning. "Eric, our agreement—" If, through using my "gift," I discovered any humans doing anything illegal, those people were to be turned over to the human authorities. I'd made Eric agree to that when I'd first started reading minds for him.

Frowning, Eric nodded. "Yes, yes, I remember. _Capturing," _he emphasized the word_,_ "the florist now will not give us all the answers we need. The florist may be working under duress or glamour or witchcraft—"

Shocked, I gasped.

"Yes, Sookie," replied Pam. "Witchcraft can be used to compel behaviors, much in the same way as glamour. It may even be better as it is not easily detected by vampires or by those such as yourself." _Those such as myself_—that would be me and Barry the Bellboy— the only other telepath I'd ever met.

Replaying Eric's assessment in my mind, I understood what he meant. "But what about the bomb?"

"We must stop the bomb—obviously. But this Rafe is not someone we can remove from the chessboard until we have discerned his next moves—and who the other players are on his team."

"Eric, what about the witch?" I could've kissed Pam. I so didn't want to have to be the one to bring it up again.

"I suppose we could make up an excuse to meet with her. And I mean _we_, Pam. I will not saddle myself alone with that whore witch."

As Eric glanced down at some papers on his desk, I noticed Pam roll her eyes. I stifled a giggle.

Eric looked at me sharply; I figured he knew I was amused even if he hadn't caught me laughing. He was likely tuned into the Sookie Channel.

"One thing I wonder about is the nature of the explosive device. Will it be detonated from afar? Or do they actually have someone prepared to perform the task?"

"What do you mean? 'Perform the task'?"

"Sookie, surely you have heard of suicide bombers?" Pam posed this question.

I felt my eyes grow wide. "You all can do that? Glamour someone into committing suicide?" I'd become privy to a lot of awful things since I started dating Bill; hypnotizing someone into committing suicide seemed like the worst.

Eric shrugged. "I personally have not had cause to do such a thing but I don't see why not."

Oh.

"I would think a witch could do the same. Compel such an action." Pam suggested.

Oh. Witches could do it too. I felt my mouth go dry. Again I wondered if I was better off knowing this stuff or would I be better off not knowing? I guess my pondering the question was pointless since I already knew it and couldn't be glamoured into forgetting it. Suddenly I found myself wondering if I'd be susceptible to a witch's spell. If I couldn't be glamoured, would I also be immune to the mental influences of witchcraft? Eric's voice drew me back to the present.

"Sookie, what else did you hear today?"

I filled Eric and Pam in on everything I'd heard. The highlights included my impression that Marnie wasn't as open-minded about vampires as she made herself out to be and that I caught her feeling both a sense of animosity and lust toward Eric. (I left out the part about her being the biggest bitch I'd encountered outside of Debbie Pelt's hometown; since Pam had warned me about Marnie, I figured I wouldn't exactly be hitting them with a newsflash.)

I told them that Jake seemed to have something going on beneath the surface. I said he was worried about a gambling debt but was hopeful that another job—not the E(E)E job—would earn him enough money to pay off his losses.

I relayed the content of Frannie Quinn's brain. I told them how she was worried about her brother being in debt to the vamps. She was also concerned about her mother on account of the woman's illness. I left out the part about her thinking me a "femme fatale." That had nothing to do with the investigation and I was going to confront Eric on the Quinn issue after all the work related talk was done.

I conveyed my impressions of Christian Baruch—that he was trustworthy but wanted advancement. I was diplomatic about some of his opinions—saying simply that he didn't agree with hotel management entrusting Marnie with the job of manager. I told them he knew Marnie was a witch and suspected her of using witchcraft to boost her profile at the hotel. He was waiting for a chance to prove himself and be appropriately rewarded. Of course, in addition to the best parking spot and a good 401K plan, Christian wanted eternal life.

Finally, I described my exploration of Hondo and Bettina's brains, which uncovered little relevant information.

In summary, I thought Jake had something going on that warranted a closer look-see and I remained a little suspicious of Christian Baruch. As for Marnie, I confirmed Pam's theory on why Marnie seemed to be at the hotel all the time. I also relayed Christian's comment on her unwillingness to trust the hiring to anyone other than herself and John Quinn's observation that under her rein, the hotel staff was a revolving door. Uh-oh. I realized too late that this last comment might segue us into the conversation I wasn't altogether sure I was ready to have.

"Did you get a chance to read John Quinn?" Eric asked.

Ah. Here it was. "No, actually, I didn't."

"I find that curious."

"Oh yeah?" I didn't even try to keep the anger out of my voice. "Remember how I couldn't read minds while Marnie was nearby? Well, Marnie tended to be nearby a good part of the day. Then the few times I was by myself with John Quinn, funny thing— my phone kept ringing."

Eric's hard eyes locked onto mine. "Is that right?"

"Yeah, that's right."

* * *

**AN: As always, thank you for reading/reviewing. This chapter didn't have the conversation you all wanted to see, did it? I know. You know what they say: Business before pleasure. That Eric. Such a cockblocker. LMAO.**


	13. Kiss from a Rose

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball. **

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious.**

* * *

"Well, perhaps you will have better luck tomorrow." I noticed his contractions were missing. Eric broke our stare down to bark an order at Pam. "Pam. Inform Chow of what we spoke about."

The tension in the room was palpable; evidently Eric was as pissed off as I was. I turned to watch Pam's reaction to Eric's directive. I was more than a little suspicious that he was making up an excuse for Pam to leave.

Pam's eyes flickered from Eric to me and back again. Shrugging, she stood. Looking at me, she spoke. Her words made me reconsider my assumption.

"We think it wise Chow debrief you on witchcraft tonight. Marnie may be involved after all." As Pam walked to the door, I followed her with my eyes. "It wouldn't do well for you to be caught off-guard by her." Opening the door, she paused. "If you need help, you know where I'll be. That goes for you too, Eric." Her eyes shot to Eric; I bit back a nervous titter.

"Pam..."

Okay, that wasn't a tone I'd joke with. Pam didn't say another word. She nodded to Eric and threw me a smile when Eric's gaze was cast down on his desk. I returned her smile, extremely sorry to see her go. I continued to stare at the closed door until I heard Eric clear his throat. I brought my eyes back to meet his.

"I wanted to speak to you about your work performance," he said dryly.

Letting out a breath, I nodded. "I have something I want to talk to you about, too."

"Hmmm? Would that be business or pleasure?"

"Business or pleasure?" My voice rose as I repeated his words. I figured he knew _exactly_ what I wanted to talk about; his pretending otherwise just pissed me off more. "_What the hell, Eric_? _I'm mad at you_—"

"Pleasure then." His face was devoid of expression.

"Eric, be serious!"

"I am quite serious, Sookie."

"Okay, Mr. High-Handed, Fine. I'll start. I know what you were up to today."

"To what are you referring?"

"You _knew_ I was talking to John Quinn—"

"So that _is_ who it was?"

"Oh, don't make like you didn't know! _Please!_ Did you have your security cameras following me all day?"

"No, but now that you mention it, that might not be a bad idea."

My eyes widened and my jaw dropped. He…was…absolutely…_unconscionable_. "You're unbelievable! So you admit you purposely had your flunkies call to mess with me?"

"Bobby is one thing but are you calling Pam a flunky?"

"Not. The. Point, Eric! Whatever! Underling! Minion! Yes men! I don't care about terminology! How dare you do that! What? Just because you're my boss doesn't give you the right to mess with me like that!"

"Yes, it does."

Horrified, I found myself momentarily speechless. _"What did you say?"_

"Sookie," Eric raised a hand. "Hear me out. You are undercover at the hotel investigating two murders and a bomb threat. You need to keep your wits about you. You need to believe no one; you need to trust no one. You cannot develop feelings for John Quinn—or anyone else. Everyone there is a suspect and until they have been absolved of suspicion, they remain suspects. You must maintain your distance and keep your relationship professional." Eric looked back down at his papers.

Fired up at first to let Eric have it, the more he explained his perspective, the more sense it made. Truthfully, Eric's rationale for me not getting involved with Quinn pretty much lined up with my own assessment of the situation. I mean I knew Quinn and I couldn't go out on a date or anything until after we knew what was going on. Although I'd only managed one little peek into Quinn's brain, it had been a good one. He seemed to be a genuine person. I'd been reminded hundreds of times over the years that people are often disingenuous, even upon first introductions. But hearing Eric's black-and-white take on the matter did let some of the wind out of my sails. I shouldn't _presume_ Quinn was a good guy until he was _proven_ to be a good guy; there was just too much at stake. But then, in the end, I came full circle and remembered the initial source of my outrage:_ all I had been doing was talking to Quinn and I was supposed to talk to him in order to look into his head!_

"Eric, I know all that," I said quietly. "But it wasn't like there was anything going on between us. I didn't kiss him or anything." Eric's face grew very still. That seemed to be the wrong thing to say. "What I mean is all we were doing was talking. You've got me out there alone with the wicked witch of the west and you won't even let me talk to the one person who's nice to me." I could hear a slight tremble in my voice at the end; I guess the day had taken its toll.

Leaning forward, Eric cut his eyes upward to look at me from under half-closed lids. "I'm nice to you."

I shook my head. "That's not the point."

"Yes, it is." He positioned himself back in his seat. "To me. That is the point."

I didn't know what to say to that. Fortunately, Eric's cell phone buzzed just then. Flipping it open, I heard his side of the conversation, which consisted of "Yes" and "Yes."

Eric shut his phone and returned his eyes to mine.

"Chow has Area Five related business to conduct tonight. He and Pam will be joining us shortly so that you may get your tutorial before he must leave."

I nodded.

Eric sat back stony-faced, just staring at me.

Cottoning on to the fact that he seemed to be done speaking, I sighed. "Listen, I can appreciate your concerns about me going out with Quinn messing up with the investigation and you should know me well enough by now to know that I won't let that happen."

"Yes I trust you."

Oh yeah? "You sure have a funny way of showing it." Piqued, my words came out in a mumble.

"Sookie, it is not _you_; I do not trust _him_. Besides until we know what is going on at the hotel, he's a suspect. You need to remember that."

"Yeah, I remember that."

"If you let down your guard with him, you put yourself at risk. You are too valuable," he paused like he was considering his next words, "to…my retinue and…to…the investigation."

I rolled my eyes. "But. We. Were. Just. Talking."

"Sookie, contrary to your accusation, I was not, in fact, watching you through the security feed. I did not know what you were doing; my only insight is into your emotions."

I let out a breath. He had an answer for everything.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Pam pushed it open and entered the office, followed by Chow. While I was getting used to them, when I first met Chow, it took effort on my part not to stare at his yakuza tattoos. They're kind of hard to ignore as they cover every inch of his visible skin except for his face. Glancing at Chow, I made the observation that my hair, at its new length, was comparable to Chow's shoulder-length hair. Of course his hair was black while mine was red. Or blonde if I was wearing my _My-Very-Own-Hair_ wig.

Eric gestured with a head jerk that Pam and Chow were to sit on the couch. I remained where I was on the chair opposite Eric's desk but I moved my chair slightly so that I was also half-facing Pam and Chow.

"Sookie," Pam began. "We feel it's important that you have an understanding of what witchcraft is about since you have to work with Marnie. It would be helpful for you to know what you ought to do to protect yourself from her."

Pam cut her eyes to Chow and I gathered that this was Chow's cue to take over the narrative.

"Sookie, many humans view witches as being nothing more than girls in black. This is a myth. Real witches can be women or men of any age. They are very formidable, very powerful. They control magical forces. As vampires, our very existence is rooted in magic. . . ."

Chow paused, his dark eyes focused on mine. I nodded to let him know I was listening and that he should continue.

"Despite this, witches view their magic as _organic_." Chow spat the word out like it was something stuck to his shoe. Absurdly, it occurred to me Chow had something in common with Maxine Fortenberry as she too hated anything organic; she called it a liberal marketing scam. I forced myself to listen. "As vampires are dead, our condition—our existence, our being—is literally in opposition to witches, to their customs and practices, since their magic is rooted in the organics."

I let out a sigh. I was following along, but I still wasn't quite sure what he was telling me. Chow paused expectantly, nodding his head slightly. Figuring he was inviting me to ask a question, I thought I'd throw one out there.

"Um, okay. So their witchcraft is based on organics—or living things, right?"

Chow nodded.

"So, would their spells even work on you? On vampires, I mean."

"A good question," Chow said approvingly. "One I have often wondered myself."

I smiled at him nervously. Dammit. Now he'd expect me to come up with more good questions and I seriously doubted I had any more in me.

"The answer is we do not know, Sookie. We have never witnessed any spells on any vampires. Typically, to perform a spell on someone, something of the person is needed." Chow stopped speaking.

"Like what?" I prodded him.

"Like hair. Something that carries the scent of the person. Clothing. Skin. Blood."

"Oh." Chow stared at me; it seemed like he was waiting for me to ask another question. Thank goodness I'd watched a lot of crime dramas over the years. "So it's kind of like the police with DNA?"

"Yes," Chow nodded. "A good analogy, Sookie."

Wow, the positive take-away from this was that my buddy Chow was turning out to be quite the ego-boost after dealing with Marnie all day. The negative take-away was the knowledge that if Marnie wanted to put a spell on me, it seemed all she needed to do was pluck a hair from my head or scratch me with her nails. That was not giving me a warm fuzzy.

"However," Chow said, tapping his boot-clad foot, "in my opinion, as you have inferred, since vampires are dead, such things would not work to cast a spell on _us_."

Boy, was it me or did he keep turning it back to vampires? Talk about your one-track minds. I thought he was supposed to be advising me on how to protect myself against Marnie? I wondered if Chow couldn't help his preoccupation with witches; maybe he was as nervous about witches as little old ladies were about muggers.

"But that's just _vampires_," I reminded him. "What about _humans_?"

With a little shake to himself, as if to rouse himself from his thoughts, Chow went on. "Humans? Oh, all that stuff would work easily with humans. A strand of hair from a comb. Saliva on a toothbrush. Dead skin cells from a bed. A discarded bandage with blood. DNA left on a glass."

Wow! If ever there was an impetus to keep my house meticulous, this was it. I would also have to be very careful about what I left at the hotel.

"What kind of spells can they do?"

"A powerful witch would be able to do many things. On places, they could curse a business to fail. Cause injury to befall the staff. For Fangtasia, they could turn the alcoholic drinks bad, or cause patrons to trip on the dance floor and sue. Plumbing problems." He shrugged. "The limit is the imagination and the power of the witch."

Chow fell silent again, caught up in his own thoughts, and I wondered if maybe a witch had cursed his lemonade stand at some point and that's why he threw in his lot with Eric and Pam. I had to admit this stuff was interesting—I guess I understood better Christian's thoughts about Marnie. Marnie could have put spells on the hotel causing problems that only she could solve. She wouldn't have needed to purposefully undermine things, if she could get magic to do her dirty work.

"What about on people, Chow? What kind of spells could a witch put on a person?"

"That is not an easy question to answer, Sookie." He gave me a sharp look. "Ultimately it depends on the witch. Some, as I have alluded, are more powerful. Others, less so. There are spells to bring good luck. Bad luck. A spell could be used to compel behavior not normally evidenced in an individual. Make a person decide to pick up and leave." He shrugged. "Join the circus. Move to another state. Take up a hobby they never were interested in before."

I sighed remembering what Eric and Pam had said about suicide bombers. Then I wondered—rather meanly—if witchcraft could be used to force Arlene to have better filtering criteria when it came to picking out her significant others. Sam, too, for that matter. Maybe a "Think Before You Date" spell could be cast for everyone at Merlotte's?

"Would these spells change the person mentally?" I asked. "Or would it just force a behavior on them, but otherwise leave them the same?"

"That is hard to say. Again, I think it depends on the witch. I think only a very powerful witch could make a personality change occur in an individual. A very powerful and egotistical witch might even be tempted to perform transformative spells."

_Transformative spells?_ Just the name caused a chill to run through me. Although I thought I could hazard a guess as to what he meant by it, I figured I'd ask just to make sure I understood. "What are transformative spells?"

"Transformative spells can transform a human into a creature," he peered at me as he spoke. "Like a cat. Or a dog. Something else."

Stunned, I felt my mouth fall open. Okay, my life may not always be the easiest but I had always liked my existence as a _human_. The idea of living out my existence as a dog or a cat even made being a vampire seem like a better alternative. Of course I love dogs and cats, but they don't get to do a heck of a lot. Speechless, I just sat, staring at Chow.

"Chow, you have rendered her mute," Pam looked at Chow with annoyance. "Did I not tell you to limit your ominous warnings? You know how prone to trouble she is; why must you make her fearful? It's a good thing she is not leaking. Sookie," she focused her attention on me. "Disregard Chow's overly gloomy sentiments. He has brought with him from the Orient an over-amplified flair for the dramatic."

I don't think Pam had ever before said something purposely to make me feel better; it just made me worry more.

Chow stood then. "If there is nothing else, I will go."

Eric and Pam exchanged a look of silent communication. Eric turned to Chow.

"That's all, Chow."

"Master," Chow nodded to Eric. "Pam. Sookie." After his polite goodbyes, he scooted out of the office. For my part, I was still feeling a little in shock after my tutorial on witchcraft. I was having a hard time picturing myself returning to the hotel the next day with Marnie there. Speak of the witch, my head shot up at the mention of her name.

"Eric, before you leave we must arrange our meeting with Marnie."

"So call her."

"I think she would be more likely to agree if you were on the call."

Eric closed his eyes and it was probably rare that he got that particular look on his face; I would have described it as a look of defeat. I snorted prompting his eyes to shoot open.

"Fine, Pam. Call the whore witch."

Out of Eric's line of vision, Pam smirked at me. She hit Marnie's number on her cell. After two rings, Marnie answered.

"Marnie, Pam. "

I couldn't hear what Marnie said but Pam frowned and glanced at me. As Marnie continued to speak, Pam rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Marnie if the girl is truly the simpleton you say she is," my jaw dropped, Pam just made a wave motion with her hand, "you should feel quite comfortable with her."

My eyes widened and I fought back a snicker. Glancing at Eric, I saw he was grinning.

"Yes, well. Beggars can't be choosers, right? We must work with what we have to get through the next few days, then you may scout MENSA to fill our entry level hotel positions."

Marnie's response garnered another eye roll from Pam and a snicker from Eric.

"Yes, Marnie, you know how I prefer speaking to you more than almost any other witch I know."

Marnie said something on her end.

"Two." Marnie must've asked Pam how many witches she knew. "You and one other."

Eric rolled his eyes and I bit back another snort of laughter. That Pam.

"Yes, well, as much as I'm enjoying this, I did call for a reason. I have spoken to Bruce and the Partnership's extension for the IRS is approaching. There are several new forms that must be completed. Eric would like to meet with you to discuss them. I am with Eric. I will put you on speaker."

Pam placed her cell phone on Eric's desk and hit the speaker button. She shot me a look and raised a finger to her lips. Silently I nodded.

"Marnie." Eric sounded like an eight year old greeting the dentist.

"Hi Eric. How's life treating you?"

Eric raised a hand to rub his temple.

"Yes, Marnie. Very amusing."

I glanced at Pam who held a finger to her lips to remind me to be quiet and gestured for me to look at Eric. Turning to Eric, I had to bite back a giggle. He was holding a finger to his head pretending he was shooting himself in the head. Catching my eye, he winked. I smiled back at him.

"So Marnie, can we schedule a time tomorrow afternoon?"

"Tomorrow afternoon? We have our final coordination meeting for the gala."

"This is more important, Marnie. Besides, this is what the simpleton," Eric raised an eyebrow at me as he said this, "is being paid for. Let the girl earn her money. Your time is required elsewhere."

"Oh, I don't know, Eric. It's the night before the gala."

"Yes, and humans will have all day Saturday to set things to rights."

"This is true. But I have some concerns about the florist."

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the office got very serious, very quickly.

"Concerns? What kind of concerns?" Although tension could be discerned in his face, Eric kept his voice steady.

"One of the flowers for the centerpiece is particularly exotic. The florist was supposed to get a shipment, but the delivery hasn't come in yet. We need to figure out what we're going to do. So I need to speak with him."

"Let the coordinator deal with it Marnie." Eric's tone didn't seem open to negotiation.

Pam and Eric exchanged a glance. Nodding at Eric, Pam squinted her eyes and spoke.

"What flower?"

Caught off-guard, Marnie didn't reply at first.

"What did you say, Pam?"

"This difficult-to-find, exotic flower. I am asking you the name. There are other florists. Not that we often decorate Fangtasia, but we do have a florist account." Pam smiled at me. "For Get Well bouquets or funeral arrangements. Stuff of that nature." I'll bet they do. "Marnie, I could inquire into this flower—_if you tell me its name_."

"Oh! I understand. It was called a ... a .. You know I forgot. I'm at home now. But I'll text you the name tomorrow."

The three of us looked at one another. I almost let out a breath but realized that would give away the fact that there was a human sitting in on the call. I held it in.

"Marnie," Eric started to speak. "Bobby Burnham, my daytime man, will let you know tomorrow the time of our meeting. I will expect you at Fangtasia promptly at the set time. The florist matter can wait until after we have met. Or you could deal with it before. But I will expect to see you at the appointed time."

"Oh." Marnie seemed to be realizing there was no getting out of this meeting. "Fine, Eric. Pam. Goodbye then."

Eric shut the call. I finally let out a tremendous sigh; I was so relieved Marnie would not be at the coordination meeting.

Eric looked first at me and then at Pam. "Well?"

"The witch is involved." Pam said without hesitation.

"Yes, I am inclined to agree with you. Sookie?"

Slowly I nodded. "Yeah, I think so too. I'll be at the coordination meeting. It'll be easy enough for me to find out if there's really a problem with the flowers."

"Eric, we may have to take precautions with Marnie."

"Your other witch?" I guess this was the witch Pam preferred talking to over Marnie.

Pam nodded.

"Are the witch and her father attending the gala?"

"They were invited. I don't know if they are coming." Pam turned to me. "Sookie, do you know if Amelia Broadway and Copley Carmichael have confirmed?"

I wracked my brain. I remembered calling Copley and speaking with his secretary. I thought I'd left a message for an Amelia Broadway.

"I left a message for Amelia and I believe his secretary said Copley would be attending. Why? Who are they? "

"Copley Carmichael is a businessman from New Orleans who works regularly with our queen. Eric and I have met him at several events. On past occasions he has brought his daughter." Pam smiled. She was showing a little fang. She seemed to have fond memories of this daughter. "Amelia is a witch. I will email her and request she comes with her father if she was not already planning to do so."

"Why?"

"In case we need a witch to implement countermeasures against a witch."

Oh. I guess it was like the saying "fight fire with fire".

"Do you need me to do anything?"

"Not at all. Come to think of it, I will call Amelia instead. Eric," she looked at him, "I will apprise her of the situation in advance."

"Only those areas where we may require her assistance."

"Of course." With that Pam left, leaving Eric and I once more staring at each other across his desk.

"Come." Eric stood up, made his way around his desk, and held his hand out to me. Rising to my feet I took his hand. I wasn't even sure why I did what he asked. Standing close—perhaps too close—I could feel the strain in the back of my neck as I looked up at his face.

"Come where? I'm not sure I'm done yelling at you."

Eric chuckled. "Then you may continue scolding me on the dance floor as that is where I will be." Eric dropped my hand and moved towards the door.

"Dance floor? You really want to dance, Eric? _Now_?" My voice probably conveyed every bit of disbelief I felt in that moment. Then I felt proverbial cold water pour over me as I remembered something. Someone. "What about Yvetta?"

"Yvetta no longer works here."

"_What happened_?" I didn't like her but I didn't want something bad to have happened to her. "Something bad?"

Smirking, Eric shook his head. "Not at all. I took away one of her fringe benefits and she decided she no longer wanted to dance here."

So, Ms. Snooty was a dancer!

"What fringe benefit?"

Eric lifted his eyebrow slightly in response to my question. Oh! I frowned. "I don't want to know about that."

Eric shrugged. "You asked."

"Yeah, well, that was before I knew what it was. What're you gonna do now?"

Eric laughed. "You certainly ask interesting questions considering what you don't want to know."

"I meant for the dancer." That wasn't exactly what I meant but I wasn't sure how to ask what I was really curious about.

Eric shrugged. "Having a human dancer was an experiment. It did not work out. It is not a problem."

For some unfathomable reason, I found Eric's unemotional response to Yvetta's departure upsetting. Until two nights earlier, I hadn't seen him in nearly two months. I didn't know how long Yvetta had been at Fangtasia but whether it was two months or two weeks, he'd kind of been in a relationship with her and he just let her walk away. I never understood that kind of cavalier attitude.

"Aren't you going to miss her?"

Eric threw me a thoughtful look. "At supper, yes."

I rolled my eyes.

"You asked."

"But…but…you're so _cold_ when you talk about her."

"Yes. I told you Yvetta was dinner and a fuck and nothing more. Why do you try to make more out of it than there was?"

Eric's question stumped me. _Why was I trying to make more out of it than there was? _Why did I want to think Eric would miss her? Why did I want to think Eric was capable of being invested in a relationship to the extent that he'd miss the girl if she went away? Why did I care? Irritated, I changed my line of questioning altogether.

"So what're you gonna do about _supper_, then?"

"Sookie," Eric leaned back against the door, "are you offering to take care of my nutritional needs?"

"_No_!" Angry, my response was a little loud. "_Like hell I am! You can OD on True Blood for all I care_."

"You asked. I thought perhaps you were unsure as to how to make the offer. I was merely trying to make it easier for you."

"Nope. No offer. Just making small talk."

"Ah, I see." His eyes were fixed on me. "Well, I am bringing you home shortly. Since we're now making small talk, we can continue this discussion on the dance floor." He held his hand out to me. Glaring at him, I took his proffered hand and followed him out of his office.

I'd only danced with Eric once before and it had been at an orgy. Given that, I wasn't really sure what to expect. I also didn't know if Fangtasia was doing one of their morbid theme nights.

Reaching the bar, I was relieved to see that the bar was relatively empty. Thursdays were usually a good night, but it was mid-January, so it wasn't exactly the height of the tourist season. Eric took my bag from me and handed it to Clancy who was tending the bar.

I noticed the music playing was pretty normal, albeit a bit on the mellow side for Fangtasia.

Hand in hand with Eric, I followed him out to the dance floor. Despite our considerable height difference—about ten inches—we seemed to manage okay. I was surprised by how graceful Eric was. He smelled really good too. A slow song, I leaned into his chest.

"So, my Sookie, you are going to scold me more?"

Hmmm. I was enjoying the song—Seal's "Kiss From A Rose"— and the dancing and the feeling of being held in Eric's arms.

"Actually, I think I'm out of steam."

Pulling away so I could see his face, Eric theatrically raised his eyebrow as if in disbelief.

"Seriously," I giggled. "I am. Just I do have a question."

"Yes?"

"You say you trust me, but when you sense me feeling something you're quick to think the worst."

"Ah."

"You don't have to think that way. I've got hormones. I may see someone tomorrow I think is cute. It doesn't mean anything. Maybe you should turn the dial off the Sookie Channel once in a while."

"Turn the dial off the Sookie Channel?"

"Yeah. Not tune in as much."

"Sookie, as long as you are in the hotel with the witch, the florist and the tiger, I will be tuning into the Sookie Channel as if..." he stopped, thinking about his words. "It's part of my plan to ensure your safety."

Oh. "Oh, I guess I get that."

"So I'm off the hook, then? Your anger is diffused?"

I nearly burst out laughing at his clinically worded question following his 21st century idiom.

"Yeah." Pulling back a little, I smiled up at him. "You're off the hook. For now, at any rate."

"Ah, yes. This is the way of the female."

We stopped talking and I went back to concentrating on not stepping on Eric's feet.

I let my eyes take in the scene at Fangtasia. More than a couple of fangbangers—both women and men—were throwing looks our way. Some eyes were envious. Some were jealous. Some were thoughtful. One tall man with short dark hair looked vaguely familiar and it seemed to me that he was watching Eric and me very closely. If it wasn't for the fact that I was exhausted and there were all those fangbangers around, I would have dropped my shield to listen to him. Thinking maybe he was just a regular who I'd seen at Fangtasia before, I tried to point him out to Eric but the man had already left.

"Hmmm."

"What is it?"

"There was a man at the bar who I thought was watching us."

"Many men watch you. Only lucky ones can access the Sookie Channel, however."

Okay, I probably should've regarded Eric's comment as creepy, but he made it sound like such a genuine compliment. And it did mean he could find me if I was in trouble. It _was_ (kind of) like wearing a Life Alert bracelet, only (1) the medics could only rescue you at night; (2) their first (and only?) medical training consisted of feeding you blood; (3) and they'd kill people if it seemed at all necessary or even if it just made things easier.

The song ended and we separated.

"Eric, I have a full day tomorrow. I need to get home."

"Yes, I'm driving you."

"Oh." He'd said that before but I was a little slow on registering it.

"Let's go now. I must speak to Pam on the way out."

Without warning, Eric flashed me a fangy smile. After forgetting all about it for hours, suddenly I recalled my odd conversation with Pam about 'wooing.'

As I followed Eric off the dance floor, I found myself wondering what Yvetta's departure meant.

Despite the fact I'd shared a few steamy locked lip sessions with him and he seemed to think highly of me—having paid me numerous compliments—I still found myself scared to death of Eric. Although, it had been a while since I'd thought it was my death that he was after.

* * *

**AN: Thank you so much for the reviews and enthusiasm! ****Special mention to Moranin - her comments on Chow cracked me up so much I stole 'em! SassyVampMama brilliantly suggested a Pam/Marnie snark-off. So I stole that idea too! See what a community service it is to write reviews? Big Viking Thanks to fffbone for the Seal song.**


	14. Gran's Iron Skillet

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious.**

* * *

After some back and forth, it was decided Eric would bring me home in the Corvette. He didn't want me getting into the Volkswagen again as Sookie since it was Michele's car. I guess I could appreciate Eric wanting to take precautions with me, but it was hard not to think of it as overkill. I'd already driven the car to Fangtasia. I tried to say as much to Eric but, as usual, he had answers for everything, even if his answers were questions.

"Why did Bubba have to dispose of two Were gang members last fall?"

Was this a trick question? "Um, you assigned him to protect me and they were gonna hurt me."

"Where did this occur?"

"The first one was at Merlotte's and the second one was at Alcide Herveaux' place in Mississippi."

"Yes, and although Bill and I are not known for engaging in much sport together I seem to recall dispatching of several—"

"I think it was eight," I offered. Eric turned to nod at me. "Eyes on the road, please."

"Yes, I believe you're right. Eight Weres intent on hurting you. Do you remember where this happened?"

I mumbled my answer to his question. I knew he could hear me.

He nodded. "Yes, your living room. I have obviously failed to take adequate precautions with you in the past." His words came out very low. Low, but serious. "I do not intend on making the same mistakes with you in the future."

Hmmm. I couldn't help but think hearing Eric talk about me and the future together in the same sentence was strange. Maybe he thought we'd keep our little mystery-solving business going after the hotel investigation was over? Or maybe he was thinking along a different set of lines altogether...?

After spending so much time with him over the past couple of days, my thoughts about Eric were pretty muddled. I knew he was interested in me but I wasn't one hundred percent clear on _why_ he was interested in me. I knew he valued my ability as a telepath. I knew he wanted to have sex with me. I'd been clued into _that_ for months. But that was it; if there was anything else going on with him, I'd need him to put his cards on the table.

But then again he _had_ put his cards on the table, although not directly but indirectly. His unapologetic attitude about giving Yvetta the heave-ho sent a message across loud and clear: Eric Northman didn't do relationships. Eric Northman did "Dinner and a Fuck." Now he was casting for a new "supper-fuck." Then there was his joking about me offering to meet his "nutritional needs."

I thought I'd made myself clear—maybe not crystal clear —but I had told Eric that I wasn't interested in a sex-only liaison with him. Of course, I couldn't necessarily blame him for holding onto hope considering how, in my weaker, lustier, moments, I'd shown myself to be no more immune to his sexual charms than a cat to catnip. Recalling several of those lust-filled moments, I felt a blush rise to my cheeks; no wonder Eric still entertained hope of me as a sexual conquest. I was definitely guilty of sending him mixed signals.

Mentally I chastised myself for spending so much time thinking about this, especially in light of everything I _ought_ to be thinking about. Tired of reliving the embarrassment of my past dalliances with Eric, I glanced out the passenger side window. I decided we were due for a change of topic.

"My brother, Jason, may attend the gala on Saturday."

"You are worried."

I cocked my head to squint at him. "Yeah, I am. He's my only family."

Eric nodded. "You would prefer he not come?"

"Of course."

"Do you want Pam to glamour him?"

I sucked in my breath. Although I'd been musing that very idea, to hear Eric offer it so freely, so easily, just called my attention to how wrong it would be. Looking at Eric, I wordlessly shook my head. If Sam came, maybe he could keep an eye on Jason. Eric's next words had me wondering if he could read my mind.

"Is your shifter coming? I know he was on the invitation list?"

"I don't know. I need to give him a call." I hunted inside my bag for my cell phone. Finding it, I flipped it open and hit Sam's number.

Silently I watched Eric as the phone rang. Eric's face remained expressionless. Maybe he'd gotten over whatever weird jealousy thing he had the other night over Sam. Maybe he'd cottoned on to the fact that there was nothing between Sam and me.

Maybe the insight into my attraction to John Quinn gave him a new worry or at least a new frame of reference. Eric picked that moment to look at me and I gave him a half-smile. He smiled back. When he wasn't being a pain-in-the-ass his smile could rival Quinn's.

Finally I heard Sam on the other end of the line. "Hi Sam."

"Sook. Glad you called. Every time you check in, it sets my mind at ease."

"Oh, Sam. That's sweet of you to say. I'm fine."

"Did you start your job?"

"Yeah. They already put me to work."

"The hotel is supposed to be something else. Nice, huh?" Although Sam Merlotte lived a pretty rudimentary lifestyle, I always gave him credit for appreciating the finer things.

"I know, Sam! It's gorgeous!"

"I hear Eric and Pam were pretty hands-on with the renovations."

Shocked, I felt my eyes widen. Falling silent, for a moment or two I couldn't bring myself to speak. Shifting a little in my seat, I sneaked a peek at Eric. I saw his lips twitching. He heard every word Sam said. He knew I was incredulous. He thought it was funny. I felt myself blush.

"You don't say? How do you know that?"

"I met with one of the contractors they used. I was toying with the idea of putting in a new bar—the counter wood is pretty pock-marked."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Anyway, the designer mentioned how they'd been in to do several custom pieces for the casino and they'd mentioned Eric and Pam walked them through their vision. Far cry from Fangtasia, huh?"

"Um, yeah. It's real nice." I was trying to ignore Eric's quiet chuckling beside me. Thankfully I remembered my reason for calling Sam.

"Sam, Marnie's got me calling the folks on the guest list to find out who's coming. Are you planning on coming on Saturday?"

"Of course, Sook. Considering everything, I figured I'd go."

Although he didn't say it, I caught on to the subtext of his comment. 'Considering everything, I figured I'd go _to help keep an eye on you_.' I let out a breath.

"Well, that's terrific, Sam. It looks like we may have gotten lucky with a lead today—" Eric threw me a sharp look; I raised my hand to indicate he should wait and just trust me. "Anyway, that's good—"

"But there's still things to worry about?"

"Yeah," I sighed. "There's more too. Jason's latest has an uncle who has invitations. I guess he gave them to her and now Jase is planning on coming."

"Say no more, Cher. I'll keep an eye on him."

"Oh, thank you, Sam! You know Jase went back for seconds on something else the day they were handing out common sense."

I caught Eric turn to look at me in amusement. I gestured for him to keep his eyes on the road.

"No problem. I'm coming solo by the way. Arlene hinted she wanted to come—"

I grimaced just envisioning that scenario.

"for the same reason you worry about Jase, I didn't want to have to babysit Arlene."

"Yeah, I can understand that." I remembered one more thing I had wanted to ask Sam. Although, considering the latest round of suspicions, I wasn't sure how relevant it was. "Sam, did Marnie ever call you? You know? To check on my resume?"

"No, she didn't."

"Does that seem a little strange to you?" Considering what Christian Baruch had said about Marnie's hiring tendencies, it seemed off to me.

"Maybe. Maybe not. Normally I'd say yeah, but since the gala is a few days away and she's strapped, maybe she just figured she'd use you for this week and worry about your credentials next week."

"Oh." I guess I could see that making sense. "Well, I'm almost home. I'll let you go."

"Eric driving you home?"

"Yeah." I said this a little uncertainly. Sometimes, I got the feeling that all the folks I knew were a little tighter with each other than they let on.

"Good. He seems to be doing a thorough job keeping an eye on you."

I shot a glance at Eric. Although he'd stopped snorting a while ago, I saw he was pleased at Sam's complimentary words. Okay, this was just weird.

"Goodnight, Sam."

"Goodnight, Sook."

After hanging up with Sam, I peered over at Eric. I realized I'd underestimated how much of the drive we had left. We still had about fifteen minutes left. Not wanting to open a Pandora's box, I thought I'd initiate a neutral conversation.

"So you think Rafe is putting the explosives in the flowers?"

Eric gave me a sideways glance. "It makes sense."

"Do you know what the centerpieces were supposed to be like?"

Bemused at the question, Eric lifted a blonde eyebrow at me. "You overestimate my interest in interior design, Sookie."

I shrugged. "What about the detonation? Do you think they have it rigged to blow up when triggered? Or do you think there's a person who's going to do it?"

I still had trouble with the idea of glamouring people to be the equivalent of 21st century kamikaze pilots.

"The thing I find curious is that if there is a detonation device, then it must be connected to the explosives. The centerpieces will not be connected to one another. They must, then, have it rigged somehow so that they are connected."

"What about those chips Pam mentioned the other night? The RFID chips that the hotel installed on the room service carts?"

Eric looked at me sideways again. "That is not an implausible theory," he nodded. "Of the people you have met, is there anyone you think capable of such an action?"

My mind immediately went to Jake Purifoy. He didn't care for vamps. He struck me as kinda just being out for himself. He certainly would have the technical know-how. Then there was the fact that he had a gambling debt...

"Eric, maybe you should have Pam or Bobby look into Jake Purifoy more. Like find out who he's in debt to. It might be important."

Without turning to me, I saw Eric nod and a grin play at his lips. "Yes, Sookie," he replied. Falling silent, his face became unreadable. I wondered briefly if I'd insulted him with my little piece of advice. Like he'd already thought of it or something but his next words clarified his quiet musings. "I continue to find myself surprised by you." He looked at me.

Oh.

"But I shouldn't be." He grinned at me.

I didn't know how to respond to that so I just took that as my cue to be quiet.

We finally arrived at my house and I wasted no time in getting out of the car. I was looking forward to taking the wig off. Eric hung back while I made my way to the porch. Puzzled as to why he was hesitating, I shot him a backwards glance over my shoulder only to realize he was grabbing my change of clothes bag from his trunk.

"Eric!" I called out. "I'm going inside."

Without a word, he nodded. He seemed to have something on his mind.

Once inside the house, I flipped on the lights and took a deep breath. I may get attacked there once in a while, but home was still home. Standing in front of the mirror in the hall entrance, I carefully removed the hairpins from my hair and took off my wig. As much as I missed my blonde tresses, it definitely felt good to be wig-free. After spending a couple of minutes inspecting my red hair in the mirror, I started to wonder where Eric was. He should've been inside by now.

Remembering the incident of the previous night, it occurred to me belatedly that maybe the fairy had come back. Since Eric hadn't explained what a fairy was (Geez Louise, did I need a Chow 101 on fairies now?), I was picturing Tinker Bell from Peter Pan. Well, I couldn't imagine Tinker Bell causing Eric much of a problem. Still I was concerned that he hadn't come in yet. Looking around my kitchen for a weapon, my eyes spied my grandmother's old iron skillet hanging on a hook.

Perfectly seasoned and blackened, aside from making a mean omelet and sausage breakfast, when wielded properly, gran's iron skillet could be a very effective weapon. I knew my gran would turn over in her grave to see her granddaughter beat somebody up with her iron skillet, but I figured she'd understand we couldn't just let any fairy who felt like trespassing onto the property come and go as they pleased.

Quiet as a church mouse, I opened the kitchen door and glanced around. My shields down, I sensed a void. Eric. And a Were. Damn. I should just get in the habit of checking before I get out of the car. Peering into the darkness, my vision was aided only by the smattering of light cast by the stars and the few outdoor security lights I had on the house. Finally, I spotted Eric locked in a heated battle with a Were in its wolf form. They were about a dozen yards off from the house, near the great old oak tree.

Watching the fight, I knew I had to do something. Skillet in hand, I started to make my way over to them. Though I wanted to get there as fast as I could, I knew I couldn't just run in a straight line. An approach like that would immediately get the wolf's attention and he'd attack me before I had a chance to clock him. So, instead I zigzagged my way, stealthily hiding behind the trees and scrub that circled the property. It took longer, but I knew I had to do what I could to make sure the Were didn't sense my presence until I was ready to ambush him.

As I got closer, I could see the wolf's jaws were deadlocked on Eric's neck. Eric didn't look good. I bit my lip to keep myself from crying out.

Furious now, I continued to make my way creeping along the line of trees, a little faster now. I saw that the Were was brutally twisting his snout back and forth yanking on Eric's flesh. Bully.

Finally close enough, I wasted no time in running to where they were grappling on the ground. Holding the skillet high above my head, I brought it down hard on the wolf's head with as much force as I could muster. The wolf's eyes closed and he went slack. Using the pan to push him off Eric, I then slammed it over him a second time. He was out.

Looking at Eric, I bit down on my lip to keep myself from making a sound. His neck was a mangled mess.

The wolf, meanwhile, lying unconscious, had returned to his human form and I wasn't surprised to see it was the man I'd caught a brief glimpse of in Marnie's head. The man I'd thought resembled her. Although Sam described the brother as having a beard, I figured that was the easiest thing to change about a man's appearance. Certainly it was easier than dying your hair.

Dropping to my knees, I turned my attention to Eric who was starting to perk up.

"Eric, Eric. Are you okay?"

"Been better. Before he shifted, he sprayed colloidal silver at me." Eyes closed, Eric grimaced. "What did you do to him, Sookie?"

"I clocked him with my gran's iron skillet." I grabbed what I figured was the Were's shirt off the ground nearby and used it to wipe Eric's neck so I could get a better look at the wound. "Is the silver going to be a problem? Did he get silver _in you_? Is it like the bullets? Will it push out on its own?"

"No. No silver in me," Eric looked up at me. "It'll be fine. It'll just take a little longer," he said quietly. All of a sudden a quizzical look appeared on his face. "Your gran's what?"

"Her iron skillet." As I watched, the skin on Eric's neck, sure enough, was starting to heal.

"What's an iron skillet?"

"Oh!" Eric's usually so on top of stuff, I sometimes forget there's things he's really got no reason to know about. "It's a frying pan. Weighs about 13 pounds. It's pure iron. Seasoned to taste." As I described it, I picked it up off the ground next to me and showed it to him. I almost giggled realizing I probably looked and sounded like a demonstration model from the Home Shopping Network.

Eyes closed, Eric was breathing in short raspy snorts. For a second I was worried until I realized he was laughing.

"What's so funny?"

"_What's so funny?_" he repeated. "If that's what you can manage with kitchenware, I'd gladly pay to see you wield an actual weapon."

"Oh!" I knew it was a compliment, albeit another odd one. "Thank you." Glancing at Eric's neck, I saw it was healing quicker now, but the Were had really gotten him good. "Are you gonna be okay?" I hesitated on asking the question that was dancing in my head, but then I scolded myself for my reluctance. "Do you need blood?"

"Hmmm. Change your mind?"

Rolling my eyes, I shook my head. "No! But the Were might wake up any minute. I didn't kill him. So..."

"So I might have to?" Eric was rubbing his temple. He stopped to look at me.

"I didn't say that!"

"But were you thinking it?"

"Proper authorities, Eric."

"Of course."

"Do you know who it is?"

Eric looked over at the Were. "It's Mark Stonebrook. Marnie's brother."

"I thought so," I mumbled. I looked at the man's face. Although the interior of the bar had been dark and I hadn't gotten a very good look at him, it occurred to me that Mark might have been the man observing us in Fangtasia. That would certainly make sense.

I looked back at Eric. He still seemed a little grey. "The offer for blood still stands." I knew I didn't have True Blood in the house. Until Eric had dropped by the previous night I hadn't had any vamps over in more than a month. Synthetic blood is too expensive and has too short a shelf-life to keep in the house just "in case" you might have vampire guests one day.

Eric's eyebrows rose and he gave me a fangy smile.

Stiffening my jaw resolutely, I brought my wrist up to his mouth. I scrunched my face in anticipation of it hurting.

"I'll be gentle."

"Uh-huh. Just be quick. He might come to any second."

Laying a gentle kiss on it first, Eric bit into my wrist. Although it stung like hell, he purposefully didn't move any more than was necessary so it didn't hurt as much as I was knew it could have. After about a minute, his color was already looking much better and the wound on his neck had all but closed up.

"Mmm. Just as delicious as I remember," he grinned at me when he was finally done drinking and had licked my wrist to spread the coagulant on the wound.

Amused, I shook my head. More strange compliments. "Thank you." I looked over at Mark. "Any idea how he got here?"

"He obviously followed us."

"Wouldn't you have noticed?"

"Apparently not."

Eric sat up. I started to inspect his neck. He noticed _that_ sure enough and started preening. Exasperated, I burst out laughing.

"Eric! Be serious! We need to do something about the naked guy."

"You are right. Again." Eric pulled his cell out and hit a number. I assumed it was Pam.

"I need you and Clancy to come with the van. We require," Eric paused looking at me, "_prisoner_ transport."

I kept my eyes on Mark while I listened to Eric.

"Fine. Bring Maxwell."

With that he snapped his phone shut.

I heard a groan and realized our prisoner was stirring.

"Eric!"

"On it." In a graceful move perhaps only ballet dancers and vampires were capable of, Eric quickly catapulted himself over to Mark. Forcing the man's eyes open with his fingers, Eric looked deeply into them. In a low, resonating tone, he glamoured the Were into continuing his slumber.

Seeing Mark settle back on the ground lifelessly, I let out a sigh of relief.

"What now?"

"His pants are there. You used his shirt on my neck. Do you have a shirt to throw on him?"

"Maybe an extra-large t-shirt or sweatshirt?"

"Get them."

Without another word, I jumped to my feet and took off for the house to grab something for Mark Stonebrook to wear. After going a few yards, I stopped dead in my tracks and flew back.

Eric was watching me, a puzzled expression on his face.

"Um, you don't need the skillet, right?"

Grinning, he shook his head. He reached down and lifted gran's skillet and handed it to me.

"Thanks."

"Of course, my Sookie."

Something about the way he said my name made me feel a little self-conscious. I felt the blood rush to my face. I gave Eric a nervous smile and resumed my trek back to the house.

Although I'd had relative peace and quiet for about a month and a half, I seemed to be making up for lost time.

* * *

**AN: Isn't it cool how Eric and Pam have other vampires to help them? Chow. Gerald. Clancy. Maxwell. Unlike Alan Ball, I understand you don't have a vampire sheriff without having some vampires in the Area. Otherwise, it makes no damn sense.**

**Thank you everyone for reading! I'm so jazzed by the response this story is getting. See my FF profile for links to my banners! **


	15. A Fine One to Talk

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball. **

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious.**

* * *

A short while later, I was again sitting in the passenger seat of Eric's Corvette, on my way back to Fangtasia. I wasn't sure where I'd wind up after that. I did, however, know where I wouldn't wind up: home. Eric had made that abundantly clear, even demanding that I pack suitcases for the next couple of days, both Michele-wear and Sookie-wear.

Not happy at the idea of turning tail and running, I had to admit that, after having an unexpected late night 'guest' each of the past two nights, I wasn't much in a mood to argue the point. Besides, I didn't think arguing would've done any good anyway. Eric had dug the bags out of my closet himself and seemed prepared to pack them as well had I not agreed.

As for where I'd be spending the night —and possibly Friday night, too— I was afraid I'd wind up in one of the hotel's vacant creepy death rooms. What if Marnie knew Mark had followed Eric and I out to Bon Temps? What if she knew who I—who Michele—really was? Despite the security, I remained wary that nothing would prevent her from being able to get to me if I stayed at the hotel. I prayed Eric had somewhere else in mind.

Pam had arrived at my house, with Maxwell Lee, an African American businessman who happened to be a vampire, shortly after Eric's phone call. Pam and Maxwell, using heavy iron chains, secured Mark inside a delivery van I'd never seen before. (The sight of the van sparked my curiosity. _What could Fangtasia possibly deliver_? Eric was nothing if not a savvy businessman. If there was something the bar could deliver, he'd figure out what it was. Maybe they rented out the Area Five vamps? _Make a splash at your next office party with your own van full of "party vamps._" Recalling the orgy I'd been to the summer before, it didn't seem like too outlandish of an idea to me.)

Finally arriving at Fangtasia, we must have made a strange little procession as we marched into the club: two vampires carrying a restrained Were-witch followed by a third vampire and a telepath. I might've thought it funny had the looks on the vamps' faces not been so serious.

I focused my attention on our captive, Mark Stonebrook. Huge and buff, it was obvious from his physique that Mark had spent _years_ at the gym. Unfortunately, that couldn't keep him safe from a determined barmaid wielding her gran's iron skillet. I gave myself a pat on the back when I saw the size of the bump I'd given him. It was easy to see it under his rather short-clipped chestnut-colored hair. Since Sam's description of Mark had been completely off, I figured he'd changed his appearance fairly recently. I wondered if it had something to do with our investigation.

Although the Were still seemed to be under Eric's glamour, the vamps weren't taking any chances. In addition to the chains that bound him, they'd also stuffed a handkerchief in his mouth. They hadn't explained why but I figured it was so he couldn't utter any spells once he regained consciousness.

As for me, I was thrilled Eric had relented in his insistence that I put the blonde wig back on. I'd agreed to put the glasses back on and I'd tucked my hair under an old Shreveport-Bossier Captains baseball cap I'd pulled from my closet. I wasn't sure if I was playing the role of Sookie or Michele; the one thing I did know was I wouldn't be making any best dressed lists anytime soon.

Once inside the empty bar, Pam and Maxwell shoved Mark, still tied in chains, onto a seat. Pam stood to his left while Maxwell positioned himself at Mark's right. Eric pulled a chair out and sat across from the Were. Leaning forward, Eric focused his intense gaze on Mark.

Although Eric hadn't exactly spelled it out, I knew I was on the clock. The handkerchief was still stuffed in Mark's mouth. The vamps didn't seem interested in removing it and it was obvious that Mark wouldn't be able to verbally respond to Eric's questions. Waiting for my cue, I stood slightly removed from the group, so I could keep an eye on both Eric and Mark.

Watching Eric, I had to admit he looked as dangerous as I'd ever seen him. Since I'd witnessed him (and Bill) kill eight Weres once, I figured I was a good judge of his threat level. He leaned in towards Mark and blew lightly on his eyelids. Slowly Mark opened his eyes and stared first at Eric, then at me.

"So, Mark..." Eric, looking distractedly at his fingernails, gave the impression that he wasn't the least bit interested in what was going on. But I knew better. "I thought our partnership on the witchcraft shop was going well." He looked at the Were. "Care to explain why you tried to kill me tonight?" Eric's voice was so flat and devoid of inflection it was frightening.

Turning my head from Eric to Mark I saw that the Were, though his eyes were open, his head was drooping forward. Listening in, I wasn't hearing much. He'd registered no reaction when I'd dropped my shield to prod him; whatever extra _oomph_ Marnie had that allowed her to detect my mental pings, her brother didn't seem to share.

So intently was I gazing at Mark, I started when Eric suddenly said my name.

"Sookie."

Turning to look at Eric, I waited for him to say more.

"It would be better if you touched him, would it not?"

Silently I nodded.

"Sit," he gestured with his head.

I pulled a chair out from one of the other tables and, placing it between Eric and Mark, sat down. Because of the position of the chains draped around him, Mark's hands were lying immobile on his lap. Unless I was okay placing my hand in his lap, I wouldn't be able to hold onto his hand like I'd normally did when reading. I decided I wasn't okay with that. So, instead, I pushed the sleeve of his t-shirt (my t-shirt) up until my palm was on his flesh. I wrapped my hand around his upper arm.

Turning back to Eric, I saw that he was looking at me, an unspoken question in his eyes. I nodded. I was ready. I already seemed to be plucking thoughts from Mark Stonebrook. They weren't useful yet as they were mostly in the vein of _What the fuck is going on?_

"Mark, why did you attack me?"

Of course, Mark didn't say a word. Listening, I caught something. I turned to Eric.

"It wasn't intentional. He followed us. He figured you'd kill him first." I turned my gaze back to Mark.

Mark's eyes shot open and the look in them could only be described as recognition. _You're the telepath!_

Whenever anyone—even a shifter or a Were, whose thoughts are usually kind of muddled to me —thinks something directly at me, I can hear it clearly. Mark—although unintentionally I'm sure—had inadvertently done just that.

A thin smile on my face, I nodded. "Yep, that's me."

Eric looked at me questioningly.

"He figured out I'm the telepath." Eric nodded sharply but seemed more intent on getting on with the interrogation.

"So, Mark, why did you follow my companion and myself?"

"Marnie..." I caught a glimpse of her in his head.

Eric's gaze shot from Mark to me. Our eyes locked; it was looking more and more like Marnie was involved.

"Why did Marnie have you follow us?"

"Jealousy..."

Pam injected at that point. "So this has nothing to do with the murders? It is the whore witch's lust?"

At Pam's question, there was a nearly imperceptible flicker visible on Mark's face. But I caught it and Eric did too.

"Not necessarily, Pam." Eric replied. "What do you know about the murders, Mark?"

Immediately, I felt sick. I pulled my hand from Mark's arm and rubbed my palms together. Eric took notice. Or maybe he just knew something was wrong the second it hit the airwaves of the Sookie Channel.

"Sookie?"

"He did it. He staked the female vamp. He killed Meryl Brons."

Eric's eyes zeroed in on Mark's. In a blink, his fangs had descended. A guttural growl was emanating from somewhere deep inside of him. Menacingly, he leaned in close to Mark. Eric had never seemed less human than in that moment. A chill traveled down my spine as I felt goosebumps rise on my arms.

Looking at Mark I noticed his eyes showed fear for the first time. Mark finally seemed to be catching on to the precariousness of his position.

As for me, my rising fear of what Eric would do was countered by the horror of the visual I'd gotten of Meryl Brons' murder. Basically the vamp had been defenseless—probably drugged with infected blood like Pam suspected—when Mark came to her room and staked her. As wrong as that was, killing him now—like this—would be nothing more than vigilante justice. I couldn't allow it to happen.

"Eric?" I leaned in so my face was squarely in front of his. "You can't kill him. Proper authorities, remember?" I tried to make my voice sound confident and authoritative, but I knew it sounded slightly pleading.

Eric peered down at my face but it was like he didn't see me. Or he didn't recognize me.

"Eric?" I asked again. After our conversation about trust, I sincerely hoped my trust in him wasn't unfounded. "You heard me, right? Proper authorities. I'm not working for you so you can just dole out vigilante justice."

It was a tense standoff. Silently I waited to see what Eric would do. I could feel my chest rise and fall with my every breath. As much as I didn't want Eric to murder Mark in cold blood —for Mark's sake — I couldn't help but recognize that there was an undercurrent of other emotions flowing through me. I didn't want to be a part of something...evil. I didn't want Eric to be part of something evil, either.

His eyes still glued to Mark, Eric retracted his fangs. "Yes, Sookie. Proper authorities." Eric's gaze shot up to Pam. "But first we must question him until we get everything he knows."

Wordlessly, I nodded. Looking at Mark's now-terrified eyes, I started to wonder what "questioning" would involve.

"Sookie, you must return your hand."

"Yeah, I know." I replaced my hand on Mark's arm.

"Did you kill Sandy Megly?" asked Eric.

"No," I shook my head. "He knows who did, though."

"Who?"

"Irena. Just a name. I'm not getting a face. I don't think he knows her aside from her name."

"What is Irena's last name?"

Mark shook his head.

"He's telling the truth, Eric…"

"Perhaps, but he hasn't told us everything he knows. He hasn't told us why. Have you, Mark? Maybe your whore of a sister put you up to following Miss Stackhouse and myself, but why are you murdering vampires in Area Five? Who put you up to that?"

Mark shook his head.

Not getting anything from Mark's head, I shrugged.

All of a sudden, Eric's fangs were down again and he was on his feet. His hand, suddenly wrapped around Mark Stonebrook's neck, was easily lifting the Were up from his seat and squeezing the life out of him. Mark's breathing, already labored due to the handkerchief, was now coming out in garbled gasps. Eric's hold of Mark's throat was so tight the Were's face was already turning blue.

"Eric!" I jumped up and laid my hand on Eric's shoulder. "Don't! If you kill him, we have nothing! Stop!" I screamed.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Maxwell Lee shoot a glance of surprise in my direction. I'd only met him a couple of times. Eric and Pam were almost friends and had seen me in other situations, some of which involved my screaming. Maxwell, apparently, hadn't.

Eric turned his head towards me. His eyes were like sapphires; beautiful and just as uncomprehending.

"Eric! Please!" I repeated. My own breath was coming out in heavy pants.

At last, Eric seemed to register the sound of my voice. His eyes met mine. He seemed to see me now. Gradually, the bloodlust left him. He gave up his death grip hold on Mark.

Mark's head fell as forward as his chains would allow. I could hear his terrible guttural rasping sounds.

"Mark? You okay?" Afraid to leave Mark with Eric, I looked up at Maxwell and Pam. "Maybe we could give him a little water? With a straw?" Pam's eyes were glued to Eric. Maxwell, thankfully, took the hint.

"Be right back." Maxwell started to walk toward the bar but stopped to turn back. "Sookie? For you? Water? Something stronger?"

"Water! Please!" Still in shock that I'd talked Eric down from squeezing the life out of Mark, I almost forgot the manners instilled by my gran. "Maxwell!"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He nodded and continued on his way to the bar.

A few minutes later, we were waiting for Maxwell as he held a straw to Mark's lips. The vamps refused to remove the handkerchief from Mark's mouth. Watching him, I figured he seemed to be making do well enough with it. Maxwell put the glass down on another table.

Eric's stony face was still staring relentlessly.

"Thank you, Maxwell." I was grateful he held the glass so Mark could drink. Otherwise, I would've had to and I wasn't comfortable with the idea.

Feeling eyes on me, I turned my gaze away from Mark and encountered Eric staring at me. He gave me a pointed look, as if to say _Ready_? Nodding, I replaced my hand to Mark's arm.

"Who put you up to this, Mark?"

_Marnie._

"Marnie, Eric."

"Yes, yes. We got that the first time. But who is Marnie answering to?"

_I don't know._

"He doesn't know."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"It's true, Eric." My voice was low as I said this; I knew Eric would hear me.

"Let me ask him questions, Eric."

Silently, Eric nodded.

My hand secure on Mark's upper arm, I asked him what I thought was a relevant question. "What did Marnie tell you? Why were you to kill the vamps?"

_It was a plot to bring down Area Five._

My eyes widened at that. Eric's suspicion had been on target, then. "Whose plot? Marnie's plot?" I asked.

_No, someone else. Don't know._

His mind was empty. He genuinely didn't know.

I glanced at Eric. "Eric, he says it was a plot to bring down Area Five. Not Marnie's. Someone else."

I saw Eric nod and then lift his gaze once more to meet Pam's.

"Why were you at Fangtasia?"

_Marnie wanted me to watch Eric._

"Marnie wanted him to watch you, Eric," I informed Eric. "Why?" I asked Mark.

_She heard he was seeing a dancer. She wanted to know who._

That made me feel better. Mark's target had actually been Yvetta! My relief lasted all of two seconds. I was still the one who he followed home. Dammit.

"Does Marnie know you followed us to Bon Temps?"

_No._

"Did you report back to her tonight?"

_When I was at Fangtasia._

"What did you tell her?"

_No dancer. Just that I saw Eric dancing with a blonde. Didn't know you were the telepath._

Closing my eyes, I groaned. This was not good. But maybe it wasn't as bad as it could've been. Despite what Mark knew, it sounded like Marnie knew nothing tying me—either of me, Sookie or Michele—to Eric.

"Sookie?" He sounded impatient. I realized I hadn't given Eric the update.

"Marnie sent him to Fangtasia because she wanted to know about you and…and Yvetta. She'd heard you were _seeing_ someone." I spit these words out so I wouldn't have to dwell on them. "He reported to her that he saw _us_ dancing, but he didn't know who I was. Marnie doesn't know he followed us here."

Eric nodded.

"So, Mark," Eric's eyes glinted like steel. "You expect me to believe that you really don't know anything more about the plot?"

_No._

Looking into Mark's head, I saw he had no thoughts about the plot beyond his 'minor' role of murdering Meryl Brons. Marnie had been careful not to tell him anything about it.

Silently, I shook my head at Eric.

"When will Marnie realize you're not at the store?" Eric asked Mark.

_Afternoon…she calls._

"She calls in the afternoon," I reported.

His eyes still glowing, Eric nodded. With a glance up at Maxwell and Pam, he gave them new instructions. "Secure him downstairs."

My eyes flew open in surprise. I didn't know Fangtasia even _had_ a downstairs. Pam and Maxwell grabbed the Were witch and dragged him out into the hallway. I watched them disappear in the direction of Eric's office before I turned my attention back to Eric. He was deep in thought.

"What now?" I asked.

Eric ran his fingers through his hair. Since his lower locks were still matted with blood from the Were's attack, his fingers didn't get very far. He freed his hand from his tangled tresses and looked at his fingers, now stained with flakes of dried blood.

"Good question," he replied. "Marnie..." His words tapered off.

"Yeah, Marnie. You and Pam will see her later today. What are you gonna do?" It dawned on me that now we _knew _positively that she was involved. Her own brother had ratted her out. Not that he had any choice.

Eric seemed to consider my question. Letting out a fake breath, he focused his eyes on something invisible before him.

"As much as I'd love to _take her out_, we cannot. We still need to know who she's answering to. Who put her up to this and why."

I nodded. He was right. As many answers and clues we'd gotten that day—and we'd gotten a lot—we still had too many questions.

We knew Mark Stonebrook and someone named Irena killed the vampires at the hotel as part of a plot to discredit Area Five. While we knew Marnie engineered the plot, we didn't know _why_. We still didn't know who was really pulling the strings. Who was Irena? Was Jake Purifoy involved? What about Rafe, the florist?

The _major_ plot for the gala on Saturday seemed to involve planting explosives in the floral centerpieces and timing a detonation to get the most bang for your buck. While we had an idea of how things were supposed to happen, we still didn't know enough about the particulars.

Even if we figured out all the schemes that Marnie had planned for Saturday, as long as we didn't know who she was taking her orders from, we still didn't know who was truly behind it.

Not knowing who was behind it, meant we were still at risk. What if they had a separate plan they were advancing without Marnie? What if they had a Plan B?

ooOOOoo

I felt something tickling my cheek and, although I was mostly asleep, I swiped at it with my hand. But my hand didn't find anything.

I felt it again and waved at it a second time, but again encountered nothing. I settled back into the cozy warmth.

I felt the fluttering a third time. This time, when I swatted at it, I finally hit something. I hit something hard and cool and stubbly.

Opening my eyes, I saw Eric's face, inches from my own, staring at me.

"What are you doing?" I asked him. When he didn't answer me right away, I feared for a second that I hadn't actually said anything; maybe I'd just projected it at him. Forcing myself to wake up, I focused an eye on Eric. No matter how low I whispered, he heard me. He had to.

"Do you realize how sound a sleeper you are?"

I could not recall ever having heard a more stark case of the pot calling the kettle black as my gran would say. "Ha! You're a fine one to talk!"

"Touche," he grinned. "Seriously, though. I was trying to bedevil you with my hair for five minutes and I couldn't arouse you."

It crossed my mind that if Eric wanted to arouse me, he certainly knew better ways to do it. Saying that aloud would have opened up quite a can of worms. Thankfully I had enough sense, even in my half-asleep state, to keep my mouth shut.

Twisting my head, I looked past Eric, who was crouched in front of me with the Corvette's passenger door swung open. Scanning with my eyes, I tried to figure out where we were. It appeared that we were in the garage of a house. "Where are we?"

"Home."

My eyes widened. "You brought me to your home?"

"No. I brought you to your home. Or Michele Landers' home, to be precise."

"5 Cayuga Trail?"

"Yes."

"Oh." I remembered asking Bobby Burnham who the house really belonged to and he sassed me. "Eric, whose house is it? For real?"

"Michele's."

If I weren't so exhausted I would've rolled my eyes. As it was all I could muster was a confused look and a yawn. "Seriously, Eric, whose house is it?"

"Michele Landers is the name on the deed, my Sookie."

"Oh." I thought about that for a moment. "You own it."

"I may have helped Michele with the down payment, but all legal documents indicate that she has owned it for four years."

"Okay." I yawned again.

"You're tired. You need to sleep."

"No kidding, Sherlock."

"Hmmm. Your mouth..."

"What about my mouth?"

"I find the things that come out of your mouth often amusing."

I yawned again. "Yeah? And the things that come out of your mouth are often dangerous."

Eric quirked an eyebrow up questioningly.

"Geez Louise! Fangs?"

Amused, Eric shook his head. "My Sookie, I really think it is time for you to be tucked in."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

"You're not going to argue with me? You're going to let me tuck you in?"

"Yep."

"Can I change you into your night clothes?"

"Nope." I yawned. "I gotta draw the line somewhere."

"Ah. Very well, then."

We fell into a rather awkward silence, which was odd because they didn't happen often. I took note of it, wondering where it came from. Then I realized what it was. Something was bothering me and my conscience wouldn't let me forget about it.

"Eric, would you have killed him?" I didn't explain. I knew I didn't have to.

"No," he fixed his gaze on me. "Sookie, I would not have killed him."

"But you were so close..."

"Yes." Nodding, he agreed with me. "But I wouldn't. I didn't."

"But..." Tired, I yawned again.

"Bloodlust is something that we learn to control."

"But it didn't seem like you were controlling it."

"Is he dead?"

"No."

"I controlled it."

"I stopped you."

Eric looked at me, bemused. "A human woman. You think you wield the power to stop a vampire?"

"Eric, I stopped you." I repeated quietly. He looked thoughtful.

"I let you stop me." Eric stared at me with his baby blues. "Do you need me to carry you?"

I smiled. "Ha. No."

"Why not?" Eric pushed several strands of hair away from my eyes.

"I can get there myself." Then, as if the fates of the universe had lined up on cue, I attempted to push myself out of the car and got nowhere. Eric burst out laughing.

"Eric! It's not funny! What's going on?"

"Seatbelt, my lover."

Oh! I really was tired. I didn't say anything at his endearment but just gave him a look and he undid my seatbelt.

"Yes, my calling you that is so terrible."

"Eric, I'm not your lover." To punctuate how strongly I felt on this point, my body picked that moment to yawn.

"Certainly not, with that level of stamina."

Eyes wide, I frowned. I saw he was grinning. I slanted my eyes at him but honestly I was too tired to even decide whether or not to be offended by his comment. I yawned again. Maybe I'd just let it go.

I let him help me out of the car and carry my overnight bags but I made it up the stairs under my own steam.

After brushing my teeth and changing into my pajamas—a light pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt— I actually kept my word and let Eric tuck me in. I was curious about the house, but my need for sleep outweighed everything else. I had checked out the decor of the rooms we'd passed —the hallway that led from the garage, the living room off the hallway, and 'my' bedroom— and had noted the deep rich tones and tasteful wood furniture. 'Michele' had good taste apparently. I climbed into bed. Eric stood over me playing with an alarm clock.

"What time do you wish to waken?"

"We're pretty close to the hotel, right?

"Maybe ten minutes."

So for me to get in at eleven, I'd leave at ten-fifty. "Could you set it for nine-fifty, please?"

He tinkered a few seconds more. "Done." He sat down on the bed next to me. Tired, I grinned.

"Are you going to tell me a bedtime story?"

Eric smiled back. "I think not. You need your sleep. I will, however, give you a bedtime kiss." With that Eric bent down and leaned over me to give me a surprisingly chaste kiss on the cheek.

Holding myself still, I heard a slight moan escape my throat. Although my eyes were closed, I wasn't surprised to feel Eric's lips travel the short distance along my cheek until they gently caressed my lips. Still chaste in an, inexplicably hot way, our lips, closed, locked onto one another's. Finally Eric, pulling his mouth away, brought his forehead down to nuzzle mine. "Sleep well, my Sookie."

"You leaving?" I mumbled.

"No. I will remain here. I will be at rest when you awaken."

"Do I come here tomorrow?"

"Go to Fangtasia. We'll take it from there."

"Okay."

"You are compliant when sleepy."

"Mmmm."

I must have fallen asleep before Eric left the room. I didn't even hear the door shut.

* * *

**AN: This chappie focused more on the mystery than the romance or the humor. Ah, well. It happens. Hope it was still enjoyable.**

**Check the link on my profile to see my attempt at a banner. ROTSS readers know I like to do tabloid pages (think National Enquirer). I'll do one for this fic after the gala. As for casting, everyone on TB is fine except Eric has long hair, is muscular (more Season 1) and does not dress like a metrosexual (more Book!Eric). Romola Garai is Sookie.**


	16. The Art of Juggling

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball. I just put them to work at a hotel.**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious.**

* * *

I awoke the next morning to the buzzing of an unfamiliar alarm. Grimacing, I reached for it and managed to shut it off with a little trial and error. Momentarily confused by the strange surroundings, I scanned the room. Noticing Eric's jacket on the back of a chair, I was quickly hit with a flood of memories of the night before.

Eric and I interrogating Mark Stonebrook.

Me saving Eric from the Were.

Eric driving me home.

Eric and I slow-dancing at Fangtasia.

Eric tucking me into bed.

_Eric_. Eric was in the house somewhere. As tired as I'd been when I'd finally crawled into bed the night before, I did remember Eric telling me he was staying over. The thought of Eric dead somewhere near me inspired in me a feeling I had trouble identifying.

Just how nearby was he? Since exhaustion overruled my curiosity the night before, I hadn't explored the house. But now I wondered if I'd stalked past a coffin somewhere with tired, unseeing eyes. Or maybe there was a light-tight bedroom. Maybe Eric was even asleep in the next room. I shivered at the thought.

Cocking an eye open I glanced again at the alarm clock and decided I'd allow myself a few more minutes in bed. With everything else there was to worry about, I didn't think anyone would say anything if I snuck into the hotel a few minutes late. Well, Marnie would probably say something awful to me but that was practically guaranteed anyway so why should I let that stop me from getting a few extra minutes in bed?

My mind seemed to want to dwell on Eric... _Eric_. I wondered what he looked like dead. He was so vibrant and larger than life, it was hard to imagine him still and lifeless, even for sleep. I found it harder to envision him dead for the day than I found it to envision Bill. Of course, I'd actually seen Bill dead for the day. In some ways it suited him.

As for the chaotic turn my life had taken, I had to admit —as crazy as it was—it was kind of nice seeing my vampires again. Of course, I didn't miss the Cheater. But Eric and Pam and even Chow in his worrywart way were sort of fun. I felt that they—as much as their wiring allowed them to think of humans as equals or at least as worthy allies—respected me and listened to my opinions. I knew I influenced Eric the night before—despite whatever story he was trying to sell himself. After a lifetime of being treated like nothing I did or said mattered, it felt good to be valued. I couldn't help but regret the lengths I had to go to for it, but I had to admit, even with the danger, I welcomed my new-found sense of belonging.

My thoughts came back around to Eric. I think if I really allowed myself time to think about Eric, it would hit me just how much there was to think about. But I didn't have time to ruminate (excellent Word of the Day!) on Eric just then. We still had a mystery to solve.

All of a sudden I heard my cell phone ring. Looking around I was surprised to spot it lying on the dresser connected to its recharger. Since I'd been much too tired to think about my cell phone last night, Eric had obviously dug it out of my bag and set it up to recharge. Getting out of bed, I grabbed it and silently groaned when I saw the name on the screen. Bobby.

"Hello?" I wasn't quite successful keeping the agitation out of my voice.

"Hi. I need you to find out the time of this coordination meeting."

Confused, I made a face. Eric and Pam weren't even awake yet. "What? Right now? Why? The vamps are dead for the day."

I could swear I heard him roll his eyes over the phone.

"I need it as soon as possible because I have to schedule their meeting with Marnie Stonebrook."

"Oh," I replied softly. Wake up, Sook. "Right. I'll be at work at eleven. Do you want me to try to reach her before? Or can I just call you after I get to the hotel?"

Bobby was quiet for a minute. "Call me when you get to the hotel. That's fine."

I let out a breath. I was so relieved I didn't have to deal with Marnie just yet. "Okay. Will do."

"Bye."

"Bye." I ended the call and had to admit that, as far as phone conversations with Bobby, it hadn't been that bad. He'd even been the one to initiate the "bye" part. That, I felt, was polite of him. Maybe there was hope for Bobby yet. Maybe.

ooOOOoo

A little over an hour later, I felt the strain of my forced smile as I walked quickly through the lobby of the El Dorado. Admiring the interior decor as I made my way, I still marveled that Eric and Pam had been the primary catalysts in the hotel's renovations. The El Dorado was beautiful and, odd as it seemed, Eric and Pam had been the ones to make it that way. When it came down to it, they must be really good at making business decisions.

Noticing Christian at the front desk, I greeted him with a genuine smile. "Good morning, Christian."

"Good morning, Michele." He returned my smile, his own elegant and charming. I hoped he wasn't involved in the plot.

Glancing around the floor, I noted that Marnie was nowhere to be seen. Assuming she was probably inside the office, I shuffled to the office to drop off my handbag. No Marnie there either. If Marnie was absent, what did that mean to our investigation? What if she tried to get in touch with Mark last night and couldn't and somehow figured out Eric was holding him? If she had figured out Mark had been captured, maybe she tipped off whoever she was working for? Maybe she decided her role in the plot was done? Maybe she even skipped town?

Inside I quickly became a whirl of unspoken fears; outside, my face appeared calm and friendly. My gift had schooled me well in the practice of masking my emotions. Back out by the front desk, I decided to just ask Christian.

"Christian, I haven't seen Marnie. Is she in?"

Christian pulled his eyes away from his computer screen and fixed them on me. He gave me a half-smile. "She called and said she had gala-related errands to take care of. You are to call her." Reaching to his left, he pulled the top square off a small block of Post-its and handed it to me.

Staring at the sheet, I saw it had a Shreveport phone number written on it. Taking a deep breath, I started to mentally prepare myself for the phone call. But I still needed to find out the time of the coordination meeting.

"Did they schedule today's coordination meeting?"

"Yes," replied Christian with a nod. "Six."

Mentally I sighed in relief. The meeting time would be cutting it close, but sunset was around five thirty. If Eric and Pam had to meet with Marnie at six to ensure she was out of the hotel, it was definitely doable. "Thank you."

Next order of business was I needed to decide which phone call was I going to make: Marnie or Bobby? What a choice. I decided to get Marnie out of the way. I figured if she said anything I needed to relay to Bobby, I wouldn't have to call him twice.

Glancing at the Post-it, I hit the keys of Marnie's phone number and waited. Unfortunately, Marnie answered almost immediately.

"Michele," she said. "I expected your call five minutes ago. Were you late to work?"

What? Seriously? "Marnie, I've been here since eleven. I had to assist several hotel guests." Christian shot a look in my direction. He knew I was lying but he seemed to also understand why I was lying. He gave me a sympathetic smile.

"Yes, well," she replied huffily. "Never mind that. I have several off-site meetings today. As this is so, I've decided to forego coming into the hotel until later."

"Oh." Carefully, I locked down on my features. I didn't want Christian to see me panicking. Did Marnie know the vamps had caught Mark? Was she going to spend the day looking for him? Why can't anything ever be easy? "I hope there isn't a problem, Marnie? Is there anything I can do?"

Marnie fell quiet. The silence went on a little too long, which I'd learned, with Marnie, was usually a good indication of where the conversation was headed. That being the case, I braced myself as I waited for her next words. Sure enough, when next she spoke, her voice was clipped and hard. "If you would do me the honor of giving me a moment, I will gladly tell you what you are to do." Closing my eyes, I imagined using a broomstick to shove her off my lifeboat, like in shuffleboard. "May I continue now? Or is there more you must get off your chest?"

"No, ma'am." I sighed. This woman was so awful I felt bad for Bobby, and he was only her _pretend_ husband.

"Tonight will be a long night. You should be prepared to stay quite late."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Many of our vampire guests will be checking in and I expect you to assist Christian."

"Of course, Marnie. I'll stay however long I'm needed."

"Thank you, Michele. I'm especially pleased to hear you say that since it is, after all, _what we pay you for_."

Witch. "Yes, Marnie." I figured I'd mention the meeting. "Christian said the final coordination meeting was scheduled for six."

More silence. I fought my body's impulse to cringe. "It's unlikely I'll be able to attend. You cover the meeting. Take notes of everything. At this point you are as familiar with what needs to be done as I am." She paused. "Or, at least you should be."

It never failed! I closed my eyes again. This time I was just beating her with the broomstick. "Yes, Marnie."

"Good. I'll expect a full report when I get in tonight."

"Yes, Marnie." Click.

I replaced the receiver to the desk phone and, pulling out my cell phone, gestured to Christian I'd be right back. Wandering off to the sitting area I'd used as my base of operations the day before—an incredibly long time ago!—I plopped myself down with my back to the escalators. This seat was quickly becoming my favorite spot since I was able to scan the entire open floor area of the hotel lobby.

Flipping open my cell, I hit Bobby's number and waited. Finally I heard him pick up.

"Bobby, it's Sookie."

"Hi."

"Listen, the meeting is scheduled for six. I just spoke with Marnie so you should be able to reach her."

"Okay." He paused. "Thank you."

Wow. Go Bobby. "Are you scheduling Eric and Pam's meeting with Marnie for six?"

"Eric's instructions were to schedule it for the exact same time, so yes."

"Okay," I nodded to myself. "Well, good then. Bye."

"Bye."

Ending the call, I pondered how civil the conversation went. Maybe Bobby could be kept in line after all. Maybe he somehow figured out how close he was to me setting him up with Marnie. Jokes aside, I had to admit I really hoped our little truce stuck. There were enough real enemies about, I didn't need to deal with passive-aggressive jerks, too.

ooOOOoo

With Marnie out, I had carte blanche to listen in not just during the final coordination meeting, but all throughout the day. Dipping into Christian's head, my certainty at his noninvolvement grew, eventually solidifying. His thoughts were too routine for him to be involved. He was thinking I was working out really well and he hoped I'd stay on past the gala. He wanted to take advantage of Eric and Pam's presence on Saturday to talk to them about Marnie. He wanted her fired but he knew that she was a witch and that they'd have to be careful with her.

My thoughts turning to Mark, I wondered who was guarding him during the day. I knew, even if he were tied up and injured, Eric wouldn't leave him unattended. Maybe Eric had Alcide Herveaux or another Were from the Shreveport pack guarding him.

Although I didn't _really_ want to dwell on it, I wondered how many folks knew about Fangtasia's secret basement. My imagination was conjuring up a torture chamber; I could only hope my imagination was being hyperactive. Even so, I had to admit, if Fangtasia's basement _did_ have a torture chamber, I could think of at least _one person_ who might benefit from a little time down there.

With _that person_ out for the day, Christian and I wound up tackling her workload. With Marnie's tasks split between us, we found ourselves extremely busy. As a result, the day flew.

Christian showed me how to navigate the hotel's reservation system so I could confirm reservations and assist guests in checking in or out. While the system was pretty straightforward, I was happy as a clam it was Christian—who was patient and thorough—and not Marnie who'd shown me how to use it.

There were also a ton of voicemails that required attention. Many of the guests I'd left messages for the previous day had replied overnight. One such response came from Pam's witch friend, Amelia Broadway, who confirmed she would be attending the gala. Oddly, she made no mention of her father. I wondered if Pam had actually talked to her.

As I took reservations over the phone, checked in guests, listened to voicemails, and fielded gala-related calls, the irony of the day soon became apparent. With Marnie out, I was free to use my gift to listen to people. With Marnie out, I was doing my job and half of her job. Since I was so busy, I had to keep putting my shields up to concentrate.

During the rare moments when I wasn't trying to do five things at once, I'd dip into the minds of the folks walking through the lobby. I never caught wind of any suspicious thoughts. Or, at least, any suspicious thoughts that I could connect back to the hotel or the casino. After a while, I was afraid it was tiring me too much — switching the telepathy on and off — so finally I decided I wasn't going to attempt reading anyone else until the meeting.

A little before two, I saw the E(E)E crew pass through the lobby on their way to lunch. Watching them pass by the front desk, it seemed someone must've said something funny as John Quinn threw his head back and laughed. A hearty belly laugh, I watched as laugh lines appeared on his face. I wanted to try dipping into his head but a party of hotel guests approached the desk then and I was back at work.

During a brief lull in front desk activity, I stole a moment to think about Marnie. I was immediately sorry I had, as I soon realized the gaping hole in our investigation.

Since Marnie was not at the hotel, we had no way of knowing what she was doing. She could've easily stopped by the witchcraft shop to see her brother. She would've known immediately Mark wasn't there and, if she knew her brother were missing, there was no telling what she would do. Damn.

I could've kicked myself for not having seen the problem sooner. Nearing two-thirty, Eric and Pam wouldn't be awake for another three hours. The only ally I had in this was Bobby. I let Christian know I was taking a quick break and scuttled off to my favorite spot in the lobby to make my call.

Pulling out my cell phone, I quickly hit Bobby's number. I hoped his disposition was none the worse for the three plus hours that had passed since last we'd spoken.

"Hello."

"Bobby, it's Sookie."

"Yes." He paused. "I can read." Ladies and gentlemen, it's the return of the asshole.

"Well, good for you!" I replied smartly. "Listen, I have a bad feeling about Marnie."

"Oh?" He paused. "You caught on that there's a problem with her, did you?"

Jerk. "Yeah, whatever. I don't know how much you've been told, but I'm afraid she's going to take off before the meeting tonight."

"Yes, we have that possibility covered."

"We do?"

"Eric and Pam already thought of it. She's got a tail on her."

A tail? "You mean she's being followed?"

"What else would I mean?"

Geez Louise, she _is_ a Were. Technically, she already had a tail. "Do you know who's following her?"

"Someone capable of dealing with her."

Oh. Must be some kind of supe then. "Are they reporting back to you?"

I could hear his eye roll. "What do you think?"

"Well, what are you doing about it?"

"Just monitoring. The plan is actually to have her meet with Bruce, the accountant, and myself, at five. Eric and Pam are to join us as soon as they are able. We sent a text from Mark that he was closing early due to electrical problems and spending the rest of the day at the gym."

Oh. They really seemed to have it covered. Mark's alibi for the day was particularly fitting. "Thanks for telling me all this." 'All this' was an understatement. Considering, it seemed like it was all pertinent information I ought to have been clued in on from the beginning. A question formed in my mind. "Were you supposed to tell me all this _earlier_?"

Silence.

"You were, weren't you?"

"Eric didn't clarify who he wanted told."

"What did Eric say?"

"He said to make sure everyone who needed to know was informed."

"_Who the heck did you think he meant_?"

"I wasn't sure. I didn't want to do the wrong thing."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Bobby, I gotta go." Did I need to say it? Yeah, apparently I did. "_If anything else happens,_ y_ou call me right away! You will not be a happy camper, if you don't. Get me_?"

The silence weighed heavily and then he spit out a sullen response. "Yes."

"Good. Bye."

"Bye."

After I hung up, I couldn't help but wonder at how many balls we had flying in the air. The best I could hope for was that over the past thousand years Eric had learned how to juggle really really well.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading. Extra thanks to the reviewers. I swipe your ideas and you also keep me honest from continuity errors. Speaking of which, ****I'd recommend waiting a day before reading Dead Man updates. I beta myself and I tweak like crazy the first 24 hours. It'll never be substantive changes, but chances are it'll just be a better read if you wait a day. **


	17. A Vampire in a Pear Tree

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball. Ray and Julia are mine (my parents!)**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious.**

* * *

For the next two hours, my mind was preoccupied with the hope that I wouldn't have to speak with Bobby again. Aside from his sourpuss pain-in-the-butt disposition, I had no reason to speak with him. If Bobby got in touch with me, it meant something was wrong. I _really_ didn't want to hear that anything was wrong. I wanted my next communication to be a text or call from Eric or Pam telling me they had Marnie and she was no longer a threat.

Unfortunately my hopes were dashed when my cell phone rang at five.

"Hello?" I gestured to Christian that I'd be back in a minute as I scurried to the lobby to take the call. "What happened?"

"She got away."

Pained, I closed my eyes. "All right. How?"

"She left her house—"

"When?" I asked.

"At four thirty." A half hour ago. My eyes scanned the space between the hotel lobby and the entrance. "She left in her car and they followed her, only she didn't go to Fangtasia. She went to an apartment complex. They caught up with her. That's when they saw it wasn't her."

"What do you mean? '_They saw it wasn't her'_?"

"The woman they'd followed from Marnie's house, who left in Marnie's car, wasn't Marnie."

"How'd they not realize it sooner?"

"Marnie keeps her car in an attached garage, so she didn't come out of the house. The car has tinted windows. They didn't know anyone else was in the house, so they assumed it was her."

My mind was doing a tailspin. Who was this other woman? Where was Marnie? Then a strange thought occurred to me: maybe it _was_ Marnie. During my witchcraft 101, Chow said a powerful witch could transform a human into a creature. Maybe there was a spell that could transform a person into a different person? Maybe Marnie could have performed such a spell on herself?

Becoming aware of a growing silence, I realized Bobby was waiting for me to say something. "What did they do with the woman they followed? Please don't tell me they let her go."

"Since it wasn't Marnie, they let her go," replied Bobby.

Feeling defeated, I let out a loud sigh. What if it had been Marnie? I would've thought Weres or shifters charged with tracking a witch would've been clued in to the possible 'what if' scenarios they needed to be on the lookout for. If they hadn't been warned that she could change her appearance, then maybe it _wasn't_ possible. I just didn't know. I wish the Weres had erred on the side of caution, though.

"Bobby, _as you know_, since Marnie's a witch, she might be able to change her appearance…" My tone was a little huffy as I said this. I wished I could've taken more satisfaction in sticking it to Mr. Know-It-All, but really I just wanted Marnie caught.

Bobby fell silent. When he spoke, I realized my words hadn't done a lick of damage to his inflated ego. "I hadn't thought of that. Doesn't matter, though. I still don't think it was Marnie. One of the Weres recognized the woman."

Surprised by that piece of news, I felt my eyes go wide. If one of the Weres had recognized the woman, then _maybe it really was a second woman_. "Well, who was she?"

"Her name's Irena Koriskova," answered Bobby.

Great. Irena. Irena—the woman who had murdered Sandy Megly. "Bobby, the male vamp was murdered by a woman named Irena."

"Oh." He finally had the decency to sound deflated. Jerk. "I didn't know that."

"Obviously," I snapped. "Never mind that now. Do we know where Irena went?"

"Probably into an apartment at the complex. The Weres let her go because they went back to find Marnie."

"Oh." I took a deep breath. "What happened when they went back to Marnie's house?" I figured I knew the answer to my next question but still I had to ask. "She wasn't there, was she?"

"No."

"They're out looking for her now?"

"Yeah."

Perfect. Instead of one now we had two femme fatale psychotic witches running loose in Shreveport. "Bobby, you let me know—_immediately_—if anything else happens."

"Yeah, I will." He replied gloomily.

_You bet your ass you will_ I thought as I ended the call. Walking back towards the front desk, I considered what—if any—options I had.

Back at the desk, I saw Christian was busy registering guests. Indicating that I'd join him in a moment, I tucked myself into the back office and hit Todd Donati's line.

"Security. Donati speaking."

"Todd, this is Michele Landers. I'm coordinating Saturday's gala. We met yesterday."

There was a brief pause; I could tell Donati was trying to place me. "Yes, of course. What can I do for you?"

"Marnie Stonebrook didn't show up for work today. She was also supposed to meet with Mr. Northman and Ms. Ravenscroft and others off-site this afternoon, but she didn't make that meeting either. We're a little _concerned_. If you—or any of the security guards—see her, could you please let us know? _As quickly as possible_?" I could hear the tension in my voice. I waited for him to respond.

As the head of security, Todd Donati knew about the murders. He didn't know how much I knew about the murders and he certainly didn't know the real reason I was at the hotel. Now, if he put two and two together, he might know there was a little more to me than meets the eye.

"Of course, Michele. If that's necessary, we'll definitely keep an eye out for her." He paused. "Do you know Mr. Northman and Ms. Ravenscroft?"

Okay. Maybe this was his way of checking me out. "Yeah. Eric and Pam recommended me for the job." I held my breath.

Those seem to be the magic words. "Okay, then," Donati replied. "I wish they'd mentioned it to me, but I know now."

I wasn't sure what he thought he knew but as long as he was going to keep an eye out for Marnie, that's all that mattered.

"Just so we're clear, you want us to grab her if we see her?" asked Donati.

I sucked in a breath. Guy was sharp. "Yes," I replied. How do I explain the rest of it? "This is gonna sound crazy, but if you get her, shove something in her mouth. Like a rag. Or a napkin. Just don't let her speak."

Another silence. "You going to tell me why?"

Is there a way for me to explain and not sound crazy? Probably not. "She's a witch."

"A witch?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then." Another pause. "Thanks for the heads up."

Click.

Dammit. I already regretted mentioning the bit about her being a witch. I should have made up a lie, some other excuse for them having to stick something in her mouth. What else could I have said? '_She's known to bite_'? '_Have you seen "Silence of the Lambs_"'? '_Her caustic insults can be very hurtful_'? Well, ultimately it didn't matter if Todd Donati thought I was nuts, as long as he directed his security team to grab Marnie on sight and shove something in her mouth before she had a chance to rattle off a spell.

The next hour passed quickly and finally it was time for the coordination meeting. Taking a deep breath, mentally I braced myself for what lay ahead.

"Christian, I'm heading over to the coordination meeting."

Telephone receiver balanced on his shoulder, the concierge turned to acknowledge me. "Yes, you go. I'll let you know if Marnie calls in."

My Crazy Sookie smile fell into place. "Great," I nodded. "Please do."

Grabbing a pen and clipboard, I crossed the lobby on my way to the casino. Pushing open the door I peered inside and saw that the gala folks had taken over a game table at the center of the casino. I began to make my way over to the group.

The E(E)E crew were all there—Quinn, Frannie, Hondo, Bettina, and Jake.

Todd Donati was there with one of his security guards, a young man named Craig.

There was a middle-aged human couple I didn't recognize but I assumed they were from the restaurant. The Vintage, the most upscale of the hotel restaurants, was catering the food.

There was a female vampire I didn't recognize but I knew the deejay was a woman so I figured she was likely the deejay.

With more than a little shock I recognized Indira, a vampire from Fangtasia. Caught off-guard by her presence, I felt my heart skip a beat. The strange vampire looked at me sharply, while Indira shot me a more casual glance. Considering everything, I realized Eric and Pam would not have sent her to the hotel without warning her to play along. In fact, maybe I was supposed to have been warned as well. I wondered if Indira's presence at the hotel was one more piece of information my buddy Bobby had neglected to tell me. Jerk.

As I glanced at Indira, she nonchalantly met my gaze. It was obvious she knew who I was but it was equally obvious she was not going to acknowledge it.

It was still slightly early—before six—but the fact that the florist had not yet gotten there was wearing on my nerves. If we lost the florist as we had Marnie, then that left Mark as our only lead. Mark, I was pretty certain, didn't know any more than what he'd already told us. We definitely needed Rafe Prudhomme.

Arriving at the table, I smiled a greeting to everyone. "Hi. I'm Michele Landers. I work for the hotel."

John Quinn grinned back. "Hey, babe. Marnie delegate?"

"Yeah. She's out so I'm filling in."

"Cool," he nodded. He winked at me and I felt my body react. My natural smile turned into a tight lipped one as I heard my cell phone buzz.

"Your phone does seem to go off a lot, babe."

Nodding, I kept the smile plastered on my face. "It's only a text." I took the phone out of my pocket. "I'll just check. It might be Marnie. She was sorry she had to miss this meeting but she had another meeting off-site that was more important."

I glanced at the message. It was Eric, of course.

_I trust u. Not him. Proceed cautiously. Will b there soon._

Without thinking, I let out a sigh. I was so relieved Eric and Pam were on their way, I could forgive Eric's high-handedness in this instance.

"Was it her?"

Jolted out of my mental wanderings, I realized Quinn was speaking to me. "Sorry?"

"Marnie. Was the text from Marnie?"

"No, actually." I shook my head. Even if the florist was late, I had to get started on reading folks. No time like the present to start giving people something to think about. "It was from Pam Ravenscroft."

"The vamp?"

"Yeah," I kept my gaze steady. "She said Marnie reported a problem with the flowers. She wanted to make sure I was aware of it."

"Oh, well. Didn't know you knew Pam." Since Quinn was a shifter, I wasn't able to get a clear picture of his thoughts. I was, however, able to pick up an impression of his feelings, intentions. As our conversation led to Pam, he was feeling disappointment, disgust, and resentment. Ouch. Decades of practice stood me well as I masked my reaction.

"Yeah," I smiled. "I found out about the job because I applied to be Eric Northman's dayperson." I struggled to maintain my smile as Quinn's next words, directed at me, came in loud and clear.

_Aw, babe, I had you pegged smarter than some goddamn fangbanger._

Double ouch. Quinn definitely seemed to have strong opinions when it came to vamps. I recalled Pam alluding to some bad history Quinn had with vamps. I didn't know what that history was, but given that his sister Frannie was worried about him being in debt to some vamps on account of their mother, it seemed "history" was a relative term.

"Well," he nodded. "Guess that's good." With that, he dropped our conversation and turned his attention to a stack of papers laid out on the table before him.

A little stunned at Quinn's sudden dismissal, I turned my attention to dipping into the thoughts of the others at the table.

Donati, of course, was thinking I seemed relatively normal but had obviously watched one too many creepy movies growing up. He kept checking his cell phone to see if Marnie had been sighted. Catching me looking over at him, he gave me a reassuring smile, which I gratefully returned.

Craig, the other security guard, was considerably younger than Donati. I placed him at being maybe five years older than me. He was excited about the gala and was hoping something might happen. He was annoyed he had off the day the bomb had been discovered. Geez Louise.

The man and woman I didn't recognize were, as I'd suspected, from the restaurant. The woman, Julia, was busy checking the dinner orders against a headcount. Hearing the numbers in her head, I realized she was working off an old list.

"Excuse me," I smiled at her. "I notice you've got an old list. Here's the updated headcount." I handed over the new list.

"Thank you. Thank you. Yeah, I have a list from yesterday. I'm Julia and this is my husband, Ray. We own The Vintage. I told Ray there was a more current list but he didn't want to call the desk." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "I think he's afraid of Marnie."

"Julia! I'm not afraid of Marnie!"

"Yeah, yeah." Hmm. Ray was thinking what a nag Julia was while Julia was thinking what a lazy pain in the ass Ray was. Alrighty then…not involved in the bomb threat…

Glancing at my phone, I noted it was already a few minutes after six. The florist still hadn't shown up. Not good.

"Hey, Quinn." I paused, waiting for him to acknowledge me. "We're late. I think we should start the meeting. Did you hear from the florist?"

"Hmm." Quinn looked at his Blackberry. "He emailed that he would be late." Quinn lifted his eyes to meet mine. "He says there's a problem with the flowers. Says he spoke to Marnie about it."

"He spoke with Marnie today?" Uh-oh.

Quinn shrugged. "That's what he says."

"You talking about Rafe Prudhomme?" Julia leaned in to ask.

I nodded my head.

"We saw him earlier."

"Here?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Coming in through the garage entrance."

"What time was that?"

"Maybe an hour ago. Maybe a little longer."

"Thanks." I smiled a tight smile at the woman. If Rafe was at the hotel, why wasn't he at the meeting? More importantly, where was he? And what was he doing?

Introductions were made as we went around the table. Indira was there, as it turned out, because Fangtasia was supplying the blood for the event. The other female vampire, Connie the Corpse, was, as I'd surmised, the deejay.

Rafe Prudhomme never made it to the meeting. As for me, after looking forward to the meeting all day, I couldn't wait for it end.

Tracking my running list of the balls in the air, my mind paired them up with the tune to "_A Partridge in a Pear Tree_."

_Two femme fatales,_

_one AWOL florist_

_and a bomb that could blow us all to hell..._

* * *

**AN: Thanks for reading! **


	18. The Exception

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball. I just gave 'em a mystery to solve!**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious [Is this getting old yet?]**

* * *

With the coordination meeting over, I was able to return to the front desk. Christian seemed uncharacteristically relieved to see me. Suspicious at first, I finally just wrote it off as him being anxious for a break. After filling me in on what arrivals we were still waiting on, he quickly left to get something to eat.

Alone behind the desk, I found my mind unable to let go of the investigation despite the overwhelming number of mundane tasks I had on my to do list. As a compromise, I decided to do random brain scans on incoming guests. Of course, this meant check ins took longer and a line quickly formed. But at least I felt like I was working on the investigation. Even if I didn't hear anything of interest.

Having just handed the last party of waiting hotel guests their room keys, I pulled out my cell phone to check for messages. Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was nearly eight o'clock. I kept telling myself not to worry but I couldn't help but wonder why Eric and Pam still hadn't shown up.

Suddenly I heard a familiar voice. "You sense me coming over and figure it was time to check your phone?"

I glanced up. Forgetting the insult I'd read in his mind earlier, my mouth responded before my brain. "Quinn," I smiled. "What can I do for you?"

He returned my smile, his violet-colored eyes crinkling at the corners. "I wanted to see if I could collect on that rain check."

"Oh!" Recovered from my initial surprise at seeing him, my mind quickly replayed what I'd heard from him earlier. Even though it was based on a made up story, Quinn had all but dismissed me as a fangbanger. After a lifetime filled with it, rejection still rankled. Some things you just don't get used to. Also, I'd dated Bill Compton for months. In Quinn's mind, that probably _did_ qualify me as a fangbanger.

Before I had a chance to reply, a hard voice answered for me. "Sorry, tiger."

Shooting my eyes past Quinn, I saw Pam and Eric approaching the front desk. Eric looked tense, while Pam, I could tell from the animated look on her face, was clearly amused. Quinn turned around to face them.

"Miss Landers is on duty," Eric continued. "She is not permitted to fraternize while on the job." Although I could tell it was far from genuine, Eric gave Quinn a perfunctory smile. I likened it to the look of relief a dog probably sports while marking his territory.

"Nothing says I can't keep the lady company," replied Quinn. "We work together. I can help her." Quinn turned around to face me. "Ain't that right, babe?"

My eyes widened. Hearing a chuckle, I glanced past Quinn to see a now very amused Pam waving at me. I frowned. With everything that was going on, I really didn't feel like getting caught in the middle of a pissing match between Eric and Quinn.

"Quinn." Figuring him to be the more reasonable of the two, I decided to focus on him. "I need to stay at the desk to check in guests. The vamps are coming tonight so it's gonna be a late night." I took a breath. "Besides, technically you're not an employee of the hotel so I don't think I _can_ let you help me."

"Absolutely right, Miss Landers. As an owner of the hotel, I shall assist you check in our guests."

Stunned, I felt my jaw go slack as I realized Eric was making his way to join me behind the front desk.

Curious yet a little apprehensive as to what Quinn was thinking, I decided to dip in and see if I heard anything. Quinn's thoughts were a mix of anger and contempt. I was relieved that those feelings didn't seem to be directed at me. Instead, he seemed to regard me as the unfortunate recipient of Eric's unwanted attention.

His next words confirmed my suspicion. "She doesn't want you bothering her, Eric."

Eric's face was impenetrable. He snorted derisively. "Miss Landers does not have any choice in the matter, since she works for me. You are the one who has overstayed their welcome. Have you nowhere else to be? Zoo? Circus, perhaps?"

Pam snickered and my eyes darted to her.

"Not funny, deader. At least I'm not something out of a horror movie."

"One man's meat is another man's poison." Eric shrugged. "Personally I prefer a good horror movie to the zoo." He paused. "Pam?"

"I like the pits myself," smirked Pam. "Nothing like a fight to the death."

"That," Quinn replied, his voice steel, "was a long time ago."

"Yes," Eric nodded, "I know. I was there. Still enjoying the proceeds. Aren't we, Pam?"

"We paid for Fangtasia with cash, Eric. Remember?"

"Yes," he nodded. "Very profitable. See, tiger, even outside the zoo you can be useful." Eric smiled. Not a happy smile. He was showing fang. "Best not to push it."

Puzzled, I glanced between the three of them. There were definite undercurrents to the conversation that I just wasn't getting.

Quinn fell silent. He shot me a quick glance before settling his gaze blankly on the air before him. In that instant, I dearly wished I could know what he was thinking, but I was left with only a swirl of emotions. Finally he spoke again.

"Fine," Quinn nodded. "I'll be heading out." He focused his beautiful eyes on me. "Babe, when you have time, maybe tomorrow, _during the day_, you and I can get a bite to eat."

Mystified by what had transpired over the past ten minutes, and not wanting to set Eric off, I kept my face and my response neutral. "I'll see you tomorrow, Quinn," I nodded. "You have a good night."

As Quinn stalked off, I turned to look at Eric who, next to me, was suddenly typing a mile a minute on the reservation computer. "What the hell, Eric?"

Hearing a thump, I felt my heart leap to my throat. Spinning around, I realized the noise came from Pam who had hoisted herself onto the top of the counter and now sat, facing Eric and me, her legs hanging over the edge.

"Pam?" I asked.

"I was bored."

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and counted to ten. "Eric?"

"I am checking the reservation list to see who is scheduled to arrive tonight."

"No! I didn't mean what're you doing _now_! I meant what the hell was all that about with Quinn! Geez Louise, did he kick your puppy or something?"

"_'Kick my puppy'?" _Eric repeated, puzzled. "Pam?"

"I don't know. I suppose it could be sexual," she shrugged.

"Oh! What? Sexual? Arrggh!" Frustrated, it was a struggle to put together a coherent retort.

"Eric, look what you've done to her. She's speaking in tongues."

"Yes." Eric nodded. "So I've noticed." Even though his face was serious, I could tell by his eyes he was laughing at me. "Why do you think that is?"

"A miracle?"

My mouth fell open. Catching flies, I turned aghast to Pam. "Pam! What the heck are you on about, now?"

"I'm sorry, Michele." She nodded. "You're right. More likely it is a nervous disorder. I was merely making a guess."

"What?" Closing my eyes, I counted to ten again. Reopening them, I glanced first at Pam, who just smiled at me, then at Eric, who turned to meet my gaze.

"Yes, Michele?" he asked.

"Nothing, nothing."

"When is Christian due back?" he asked.

"Not until after eight."

"Well, I guess we're stuck here until then." He jerked his head toward the computer screen. "Do you know who is scheduled to arrive this evening?"

"Yeah, the vamps from Arkansas. Jennifer Catar, Peter Threadgill, Jade Flower, and Henrick. The vamps from Texas including Stan Davis, Joseph Velasquez, and "Rachel". Franklin Mott is also supposed to register tonight."

Eric nodded. "Have you considered that the Texas vampires will recognize you?"

I frowned. It had occurred to me earlier—days earlier—but I guess in all the craziness of the past day, I'd forgotten to worry about that. "I think I was hoping they wouldn't because of my hair."

Eric shook his head. "Vampires are not like humans. We use all our senses when we imprint a person to memory."

"Oh? Great, that's just great." Eyes wide, I turned my face away. "So what're we gonna do?" Suddenly I had an idea. "Eric, you stay here. I'll go hide in the office until Christian comes back."

Eric grimaced. "I am not a hotel clerk."

"You're a bar owner. It's not so different."

"That's not my primary employment."

"Foof! Whatever! They're both hospitality. All you gotta do is be hospitable for a few minutes." I remembered the argument he'd just had with Quinn. "You told Quinn you were going to help me." My eyes slanted. "_Or was that just you being a big_ _bullshitter again_?"

Eric, amused, met my eyes. "I'm not looking to bullshit you, but I believe the Texas vamps have a misguided notion that my name is Leif." He paused, glancing at Pam. "Perhaps it is best I not meet them until tomorrow night."

Sighing, Pam pushed herself off the edge of the counter. "Fine. What do I do?"

I gave Pam a quick tutorial on the reservation software.

"How long must I stay here?" she asked.

"At least until Christian comes back."

Pam frowned. "Must I answer the phone?"

"Yeah, if it rings."

Pam gave me a look. "Have I not already told you my opinion of circular logic?"

"Pam, you asked if you had to answer the phone. Yeah, you do. Folks could be calling to confirm their reservations or canceling or changing the number in their party. So you have to be ready to check the reservations while on the phone, too."

"Fine. I will answer the phone like I do at Fangtasia."

I didn't think answering the El Dorado's reservation line "Hotel El Dorado, where all your bloody dreams come true" would win us any "Southern Living" hospitality awards but I really didn't feel like arguing with Pam. Besides, she was a part owner of the hotel. If she scared people into cancelling their reservations, it was more her problem than mine.

"Fine. Go right ahead and do that." All of a sudden, I was startled by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Eric was watching Pam and I. I'd nearly forgotten he was there, I was so caught up in my conversation with Pam.

"Pam," Eric raised an eyebrow at her silently and then turned to me. "Michele, come with me." He shot a glance at Pam. "Pam, text me if something requires my attention."

After a quick goodbye to Pam—during which she smiled pleasantly, her attitude at taking over the reservation desk all but forgotten—I trailed after Eric.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Security office."

As we made our way to the security office, my mind played back everything that had occurred that day. I figured the biggest questions had to do with Marnie. If she really didn't know we caught Mark, and she didn't know we were suspicious about the florist, why would she run? The only theory I could come up with was that she must have been afraid of something. Or someone.

"Eric? You didn't find Marnie, did you?"

Eric's eyes cut to meet mine briefly. "Not yet."

"Did you hear about the other woman? The one they followed by mistake?"

"Yes," he nodded. "Bobby informed me of his conversation with you. The mysterious Irena, too, has not yet been apprehended."

Oh. I was surprised. I had Bobby pegged to be someone who'd practice CYA (Cover Your Ass) and wouldn't fess up to any errors in judgment. "I'm surprised Bobby told you about that."

"Don't be," Eric grinned. "I glamoured him to ensure he told me the truth."

My jaw dropped. "Really?"

"Of course." Eric grinned again. "I don't trust humans."

"You trust me." I pointed out.

"You are the exception to many rules."

Not having anything to say to that, I returned to the original topic. "You had Marnie followed since yesterday?"

"Yes."

"How do you know Marnie didn't figure out about Mark?"

"We had him sequestered, obviously. To allay any suspicions, we sent her a text message similar to past messages he'd sent her."

"You mean about him going to the gym?"

Eric nodded. "She remained at home throughout the day." He squinted his eyes. "Nothing transpired during the day. There was no reason for her to be tipped off that we'd uncovered the plot."

"Unless she was suspicious about the sudden tax meeting?"

Eric, frowning, shrugged. "It's not like we haven't ever called her into a last minute meeting before."

"Oh…" If they pulled that before, then it shouldn't have made her suspicious. "Who's guarding Mark, anyway?"

"Vampires. Shreveport Weres during the day."

"Were they also tracking Marnie?"

"Yes."

If Eric was right, and nothing had occurred to tip off Marnie, then it was odd that she ran away. Unless she didn't. What if Marnie was still at her house? Bobby had said she wasn't but maybe the Weres hadn't looked everywhere they could have. My mind was traveling down a dark path considering what could've happened to Marnie. Unbidden my imagination conjured up some awful scenes, but then I'd seen more death in the past year than I'd seen in all my twenty-five years before that. Awful scenes were getting to be old hat.

"Eric, how well did they search Marnie's house?"

Eric stopped walking and turned to face me. Caught off-guard, I walked into him, my nose slamming right into his shoulder.

"Ouch."

"Sorry," he grinned. "What are you thinking, my Michele?"

I guess I was getting used to his little nickname for me, though it wasn't as much a nickname as it was the habitual misuse of a pronoun. I wondered what the heck he spent his time doing during that ESL class. Somehow he paid enough attention in class to know that Bill referring to me as "his" was wrong, but for him to do it, it was A-OK. It was a discussion for another day.

"What I'm thinking is…Well, I'm wondering if maybe something happened to Marnie? Maybe she's there, still, in her house. Just whoever went in to look for her...Didn't look in the right places?" My eyes met Eric's.

Eric looked genuinely surprised by my suggestion. "Come in here."

I realized we were standing outside the security office. Once inside, I saw Donati was there with Craig, the guard who'd attended the meeting, as well as two other guards. I nodded to the men. The room was the size of a conference room and the front wall was covered with a dozen television screens that played live feeds of the surveillance cameras located inside and outside the hotel and casino. Several televisions actually streamed continuous news programming. There were about three long, narrow tables set up in a linear formation. The one in front had consoles with keyboards and high-tech controls. Donati, Craig, and the other two guards sat at the front table.

A little overwhelmed at the high-tech equipment, I found myself staring up at the screens, my mouth agape. Eric pushed a seat at me and, feeling it hit the back of my legs, I plopped down. He sat a couple of seats over from me. At the sound of Eric barking into his phone, my head spun around to watch him.

"Herveaux, did you search the inside of the house?"

Eric's face remained expressionless as he listened to—I assumed—Alcide Hearveaux recount the details of the Weres' search of Marnie's house. When Alcide finished speaking, Eric nodded absently and issued further orders.

"Go back. Search the attic. If there is a space under the house, search that. See if there are any disturbances in the yard."

Alcide must've asked a question then as Eric briefly fell silent.

"Yes, possibly all you will find are remains." I let out a breath. There it was. "Call me as soon as you know." Eric shut his phone.

The as-of-yet unvoiced question, of course, was, if Marnie was dead, who killed her and why?

Since this wasn't part of the original mystery I was hired to help solve, it bleakly crossed my mind if I ought to ask Eric for a raise.

Stealing a glance at him, I watched as his eyes shot from screen to screen taking in the surveillance video. My own eyes followed to view the screens and I watched as the El Dorado's guests and employees scurried around the hotel. I was shaken out of my reverie by the sound of Eric saying my name. Or, rather, my other name.

"Michele, you didn't answer my question."

Oops. Must have zoned for a second. "What?"

"Did you spend time with the tiger today?" Eric's voice was hard.

Unbelievable. With everything we had on our plates to worry about, all Eric wanted to do was beat a dead horse. "Are you serious? How can you ask me that? What about that text? I thought you trusted me?"

"I do," he nodded. "I'm just asking a question." His eyes were cool as they met mine, his voice cold. "_I'm just asking a question of my_ _employee."_

Ouch_. Employee. _"No, I told you I wouldn't and I didn't. I only saw him at the desk when you and Pam got here and at the coordination meeting." My irritation must have been apparent from my tone. I caught Craig throw me a look. Great. Now I was getting a reputation. Well, heck, if we were going to play this game, I might as well have a turn. "And what about you? I know how important it is to you to have good _employees_. Have you filled the 'Dinner and a Fuck' position yet?" I asked heatedly.

Eric's eyebrow shot up in surprise. He looked from me to the security guards sitting at the other side of the room. The guards wisely kept their eyes fixed on the monitors, pretending not to hear us.

"No, I am not replacing Yvetta. I thought I made that clear." No contractions.

"I don't know what you think you made clear," I huffed. "I also don't know why you see fit to give me such a hard time over Quinn!"

Suddenly a voice interrupted our fight.

"Prudhomme's in the hotel."

Eric and I both looked to the front of the room where Craig was maneuvering the controls at one of the console desks, zooming the camera in on Rafe Prudhomme, the missing florist, who was furtively making his way along one of the hallways.

"What floor is that?" asked Eric.

"The fourth," replied Donati. "It looks like he's outside the suite Marnie stays in."

"That's 421?"

"Yes," Donati answered.

In a flash Eric was up and at the door. "Meet me there." Eric barked over his shoulder as he started out of the room. "You too, Michele."

* * *

******AN: The mystery continues. Wanna guess where Marnie is? C'mon. You know you do. Is she alive? Is she dead? Who is Irena? And who is behind this plot anyway?****Thanks for reading.**


	19. Ain't We Got Fun

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious**

* * *

While Eric, I assumed, flew up the stairwell—either running at vamp speed or literally flying — Donati, Craig and I made a beeline for the elevators. Minutes later, we exited onto the fourth floor. Eric was in the corridor outside 421 with Rafe Prudhomme. Even from half a dozen yards away, I could tell Rafe was out of it; I wondered if Eric had glamoured him. Eric was staring intently at the florist. I found myself staring intently at Eric.

Eric's eyes glided over us as our little crew made its way down the corridor. Feeling slightly on edge, I hung back. My companions had no such qualms and quickly filed past me to join Eric and Prudhomme. I watched silently as Donati first felt for Prudhomme's pulse, and then attempted — unsuccessfully — to make eye contact with the florist.

"Donati, Michele and I have this under control." Eric jerked his chin at me. "She will help with the interrogation. You are to continue your watch for Ms. Stonebrook. Is that clear?"

Donati pulled his gaze from Prudhomme and focused on Eric. Unmoving, Eric met the guard's gaze.

My eyes flitted back and forth between Eric and Donati. I sensed a silent conversation going on just beneath the surface. While I wouldn't have been in a hurry to bet against Eric, I had to admit Donati's determination was impressive. Dipping into the head security guard's brain confirmed my suspicions: he didn't want to leave Prudhomme as he was was afraid Eric was going to torture him.

That made two of us.

I wasn't looking forward to a replay of the Mark Stonebrook interrogation. Although they'd done nothing to help, at least I'd had Pam and Maxwell there as a buffer. Now it would just be me and Eric.

Taking in Eric's expression, I could tell he wasn't going to back down. Donati, too, seemed to be made of tougher things. I made up my mind.

"Todd, we really are just going to question him," I said, trying to allay the man's fears. "He'll be fine." I exuded a confidence I was far from feeling. But he didn't need to know that. Besides, I reminded myself, I had handled Eric in the past. Hopefully I'd be able to again. If necessary. I nodded reassuringly at the security guard, ignoring Eric who stood next to me, a displeased look on his face.

Donati also turned to stare at me. _Did she just read my mind? he thought._

I slapped on my Crazy Sookie smile. Didn't need to start _that rumor. _"That is what you were worrying about, wasn't it? I figured that was what I'd be worrying about. If I were in your shoes..."

Donati nodded silently before turning back to face Eric. "Where are you gonna take him?"

"My suite."

I swung around to face Eric. I had no idea he had a suite at the hotel although I had to admit it made sense.

Weighing matters, finally Donati agreed. Maybe he trusted me. Or, more likely, he realized he had no choice. "Fine. Let us know what you do with him." Eric grunted in assent, I think. "And let us know what you find out." Donati motioned to the other security guard that it was time to leave. I followed them with my eyes as they retreated down the corridor. Only after they'd stepped onto one of the elevators, I dared look at Eric.

Here we go.

"What now?" I asked.

"Now, we go to my suite. Come." Eric started to walk in the direction away from the elevator banks.

I hesitated.

"There's a freight elevator. That would be best." He gestured to Prudhomme. He certainly made a point. Unlike the Silent Shore Hotel in Dallas, the El Dorado—though it was vamp-owned and had plenty of vamp guests—still catered mostly to humans. It wouldn't be good for business if hotel guests saw one of the hotel's vamp owners riding the elevators with a glamoured man.

That made me think of Pam and I wondered how she was faring at the reservation desk. Checking the time I saw that Christian's break was nearly over. Hopefully he'd be back before Pam scared away too many guests.

I trailed after Eric as he led Rafe Prudhomme out of the elevator. There didn't seem to be as many suites on the top floor as the other floors but then I remembered the hotel narrowed at the top. I watched as Eric took a keycard from his jeans back pocket and unlocked the door.

"Sookie."

At his prompting, I led the way into the suite. Eric was right behind me, holding tightly onto Rafe's arm. Eric sat Rafe down on a sofa but remained standing. He indicated with his head that he wanted me to sit. I lowered myself onto a love seat across from Rafe.

Glancing around the suite, I noted how different its decor was compared to the rest of the hotel. Instead of the various shades of white and muted earth tones, Eric's suite was awash in color—vibrant color. As fond as Eric was of wearing black and rather ordinary clothes, I never would've expected cerulean blue and ruby and orange to fall within his preferred color schemes. But if I'd learned anything from my brief tenure at the El Dorado, it was that it was best not to make assumptions about Eric and Pam. Or at least not about Eric and Pam's interior decor preferences.

Continuing my quiet survey of the suite, I noticed double doors off the living room that led, I presumed, to a resting area. Staring at the doors as though I had x-ray vision, I thought it possible the room held a coffin, but I thought it far more likely that it held a huge California style bed.

A sound caught my attention and my head shot up. Eric was watching me with the most unfathomable expression.

"Maybe I'll give you a tour later."

"Aren't there just bedrooms?"

He lifted an eyebrow as he replied. "There's a little more than that."

Though I tried not to, I found my lips curling into a smile. I shook my head. "We need to stay on task."

Silently, he nodded and walked over to Prudhomme. Crouching so that they were eye level, his eyes intently took in the florist's face.

"What now?" I asked.

"We talk to him. I ask questions. You listen." Standing again, Eric shrugged out of his leather jacket. Watching his muscles flex under his snug Fangtasia t-shirt, the thought occurred to me that I should recommend he buy extra _extra_ large t-shirts. The size he favored seemed to forever be challenged at the seams. _Focus, Sookie._

"But you glamoured him," I reminded him.

"Easily remedied," he responded.

Eric leaned in front of Rafe and lightly blew into his eyes. Holding my breath as I watched, I saw the instant awareness flashed in the man's face. It was immediately followed by confusion and fear.

"Mr. Prudhomme," Eric started. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes, sir." He nodded respectfully. "You're the boss."

Wordlessly, Eric nodded. "Do you know what I am?"

"Of course. You're a vampire."

"What do you think of vampires?"

Rafe didn't say anything right away. Listening in on him, I could see that his thoughts were a jumble. It was almost like he had two separate minds. It seemed that his mind had been tampered with, but it was different from glamour. It wasn't the swiss cheese mess glamour left. It was something else.

"I don't think nothing much of vampires. The hotel's been good for my business."

"Michele?"

"Well, he's not lying, but," I met Eric's eyes, "he's not exactly telling the truth, either."

"Explain."

"He doesn't seem to have a problem with vampires, but he's also a member of the Fellowship of the Sun."

Eric's eyes darted to Rafe. "Is he now?" His voice was ice. "How long have you been involved with the Fellowship of the Sun?"

Rafe's eyes clouded over; he looked confused.

"Answer me." Eric hissed, his fangs dropped.

Rafe seemed to wake up at that. Startled, he stared at Eric and began to tremble.

"I don't know..."

Suddenly, the man was sobbing and shaking uncontrollably.

"What is he thinking?"

"I can't...he really doesn't know, Eric. His brain has been tampered with."

"Glamour?"

"No." I shook my head. "At least, not like I've seen before."

"Witchcraft?"

I shrugged. "Maybe." I didn't know what witchcraft brain tampering looked like. I decided to ask our witness a question.

"Why did you join the Fellowship of the Sun?"

"Who do you answer to?" Eric growled. I looked from Eric back to Rafe.

"I don't know." Rafe's voice was a plaintive murmur.

Eric's eyes zoomed up to mine. He watched me expectantly.

I shook my head. "He doesn't know, Eric. He's telling the truth. Whatever—or whoever—compelled him to join the Fellowship of the Sun, it's not something he can remember."

Eric frowned and made a sound of frustration. I watched as he ran his fingers through his hair. I was right up there with him. All day, I'd had all my hopes pinned on hearing Rafe Prudhomme's thoughts. It was a primo disappointment to find that his mind had been wiped clean.

"We could try asking him other questions," I suggested. "More specific questions? Maybe his subconscious might remember something before the spell or whatever erases it."

Twisting his lip, Eric agreed without enthusiasm. I turned to Rafe.

"Did Marnie force you to join the Fellowship of the Sun?"

"I don't know." His voice was so low, I had to struggle to hear him. "I can't remember."

"Where'd you hide all the stuff you brought into the hotel? The acetone? The hair dye? Remember?"

"I don't know anything about that stuff." Rafe started to breathe a bit heavy.

"Michele?"

"Keep asking him questions." Leaning close to Rafe, I placed my hand on his forearm.

"Where are the explosives?" Eric asked.

"Don't know." Grunting, Rafe twisted his head side to side. His breathing was getting louder.

"How did you get that stuff into the hotel, anyway?" I asked. "How is it rigged to blow up?" My nerves were beginning to fray, while Eric was growing impatient. He threw me a peeved look.

"Look at him." I directed Eric. "We need to finish this up! _Quickly!"_

Rafe's breaths were coming in loud pants and he was thrashing around as if in pain.

"Who rigged the explosives?" asked Eric.

Peering into Rafe's head, I was able to get whatever he knew, but he didn't know much on that.

"Eric, we need to let him go! See how he's breathing? I'm afraid he's gonna have a heart attack!"

"Where is the witch? Where is Marnie?"

The sounds coming out of the florist were not good. He was beginning to hyperventilate.

"Eric! We gotta stop! I'm serious! I'm afraid he's gonna die!"

"Fine." Crouching in front of Prudhomme, Eric glamoured the man to be still.

"Eric! I didn't mean for you to glamour him again!"

"But his breathing isn't labored now."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, but he can't stay under glamour."

"A few moments will not harm him. Tell me his thoughts." Eric's eyes were piercing my own.

Sighing, I started to explain everything I'd seen inside the florist's brain. "The explosives are stored in Marnie's suite on the fourth floor. I guess it's right where we found him. It's one of the few rooms with a kitchenette. They were able to just bring in the stuff—a few bottles each day over the past couple of days—and do whatever they needed to do to make the bombs in Marnie's kitchenette."

"How were they going to detonate it at the gala?"

"It was the centerpieces. Floating candles in this clear gel that would look like water."

"What was the trigger?"

I shook my head. "He doesn't know about that. Someone else was responsible for setting it up to detonate."

"Who?"

"He doesn't know." Glancing at Rafe, I let out a breath. "I didn't get any names or faces at any of the questions." I fell silent. One more burning question. "What's gonna happen to him, Eric? He's not a malicious man. Somebody—Marnie, I'd bet—put a spell on him and compelled him to do all this stuff." My eyes settled on Eric. "It wasn't really him that did this." I paused again. "You understand what I'm saying?"

"I have no interest in punishing the innocent, Sookie," replied Eric. "Not when the guilty require justice."

I felt a wave of relief at Eric's initial response; a wave of relief that was immediately followed by a wave of discomfort.

"Until this man is neutralized, he remains a threat."

Figuring I understood, I nodded. "Well, what're we gonna do with him?"

"First we're going to make sure we know all that he knows."

Puzzled, I frowned. "What? Did we miss any questions?"

"We didn't ask what he knew of a contingency plan."

Eric was right. "We also didn't ask about Irena." Thinking, I had another question. "Do you think the Fellowship of the Sun is really responsible?"

Eric eyes met mine. He seemed to not be looking at me, but through me. Finally he shook his head. "I think this is an effort to frame them."

I suspected as much.

"I will question him. You listen." Eric blew on Rafe's eyelids again, bringing him out of his glamour.

"Rafe, were there any other explosions or bombs planned? If the centerpieces didn't work?"

Prudhomme shook his head. "I don't know." He started to breathe heavily again.

"Do you know Irena?"

"Irena, Irena, Irena…" The man started to hyperventilate at the mere mention of her name.

Eric glamoured him once more.

"Did you get anything else?" Eric asked me. Unfortunately I hadn't so I just shook my head.

Eric turned his attention back to Mr. Prudhomme. Expanding on the man's glamour, Eric told him he was going home to rest and forget all about the conversation he had with the two of us. He was going to wake up unglamoured and then resume doing whatever it was he was supposed to do.

"Sookie, could you please escort him to the door?"

Rising to my feet, I tapped Rafe's shoulder and gestured for him to follow me. I led him to the suite door. As I watched the man walk to the elevator, I kept rolling over in my mind what was wrong with this picture.

"Why didn't you keep him or have him put in jail? I don't understand why you let him go?"

"I let him go, Sookie, because we still don't know who's behind this." Watching me, he fell quiet; I just stared at him. I was afraid for Rafe Prudhomme's well-being. "I can see you are not pleased," Eric smiled grimly at me. "Hold that thought."

I watched silently as Eric pulled out his cell phone and hit a number. "I let Prudhomme go. If we arrest him—or detain him—we tip off whoever is orchestrating it. Better to let him continue on his way, let those responsible think their ball is still in play." Eric was watching me as he paused, allowing whoever was on the other end—I assumed it was Donati—to speak.

"The explosives are in Marnie's suite," Eric continued. "Make sure no one goes in there, but do not draw attention to the room. I will remove the material from the hotel. Apparently, it looks like water. We need to get identical," Eric glanced up at me, giving me an odd look, "_floating candles_ and fill them with water so no one is any the wiser."

With that Eric and Donati's call ended. Eric and I just stared at each other. I guess I understood why we let Prudhomme go. Honestly I thought he'd be safer locked up at Fangtasia with Mark than he'd be with Marnie and Irena running free, but there was nothing I could do about that. Eric's assessment of the matter made sense. My thoughts back to Eric, I wondered if we were stuck on the same thing; how to get the bomb material out of the hotel and then where the heck to bring it.

"We need to get the explosives out of here..." Eric started.

Okay. Apparently we were on the same wavelength.

"Where though? And what if it's dangerous? Like it is?"

Eric nodded absently as he continued to stare at me. "I believe the risk is limited but we must get it out of here and get it somewhere safe." Just then his cell phone rang. Startled by his ringtone, I snorted.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Pam's idea of a joke."

* * *

**AN: Yeah, we gave Eric TB!Eric's ringtone. Wonder what Pam will have to say about Eric and Sookie being alone in the penthouse. Probably nothing. That's not something she'd tease anyone about. Is it?**

**Thanks for reading! :D**


	20. CallThatCouldBHeardAroundTheWorld

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball. **

**Setting: 2000s, Louisiana**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious**

* * *

Snickering again, I nodded. I figured that meant the caller was Pam. I wondered what Pam had as a ringtone for Eric. Maybe "Happy Days Are Here Again"?

"I am here." Vamps' phone etiquette never failed to amuse me. Or was it that it never failed to annoy me? Maybe it was a combination of the two.

As I wasn't a vampire, I couldn't hear Pam's half of the conversation. But, since I unfortunately had a good handle on the Important Topics of the Day, I figured I'd be able to follow along easily enough. I fastened my eyes on Eric.

"We know where the bomb material is hidden," Eric told her. "We need to get it out of the hotel."

Pam must've had a suggestion as Eric fell silent.

"_This_ is what we need to discuss now_. _Come up to the suite_."_

Eric cast his eyes around the room before settling them on me. Soberly, I met his gaze.

"_That_ I still do not know." I could tell he was growing impatient; there was an edge to his tone. "Obviously we will have to defer discussing _it_ until later." I noted the lack of contractions.

Eric's eyes still focused on me, I was starting to get the sinking feeling that I was the "_it_" they needed to discuss. Uh-oh. More Big Bad in my future? I felt my lip curve downward as I returned Eric's stare. He must've become aware of my growing uneasiness; he broke our eye contact and directed his gaze, instead, on a colorful Egyptian wall hanging.

Pam said something then that must have pissed him off. Watching, I saw his nostrils flare and his jaw harden.

"Pam." I heard the warning in Eric's tone. If I heard it, Pam had to have heard it, as well.

"Later," Eric snapped. Folding his phone, he tucked it into his pocket.

I fought the impulse to ask what _it_ was he and Pam needed to discuss later. _It_ didn't have to mean _Sookie_. For all I knew, Fangtasia had a toilet paper distributor delivering counterfeit Charmin. Maybe Chow, like the previous bartender Long Shadow, was skimming money off the books. I tried to shake my misgivings and concentrate on what I knew. I decided to put together a quick recap.

"So you let Rafe go. You want it to look like we don't know about the centerpieces," I said.

"Yes. I'm hoping we can convince the terrorists that the plot was not uncovered," Eric replied.

"But if anyone saw Rafe with us today, they may go after him." A part of me still felt we should have kept the poor man locked up for his own good.

"Yes. But they could've gone after him regardless." Eric's eyes searched my face; his stare was so intense I wondered if he was counting my eyelashes. "Sookie, aside from Marnie and the mysterious Irena—who we are already looking for—we don't know who's behind this. We're not in a position to protect Prudhomme."

Taking everything into consideration, I had to admit Eric had a point. I had my hands full just looking out for myself. Whatever nefarious (unfortunately a really good Word of the Day for my life) dealings, Prudhomme had gotten sucked into, it had happened well before we'd arrived on the scene.

"Do you know who Irena is?" I asked.

Waiting for Eric's response, it wasn't lost on me that his reply time seemed slightly long. I was chewing on that when finally he answered.

"No, I don't."

I got the sense that his answer, while probably not a lie, was also probably not the full truth.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

"Pam," Eric announced as he went to let her in.

"Eric," Pam nodded. Pam's eyes traveled from Eric to me. "Michele." Smirking, she fixed her gaze on me. "Playing house in the penthouse?"

"Hi Pam." Puzzled, I looked at her. "You know it's only the three of us here. You can call me Sookie."

"Yes, well. Maybe I like games, too."

Rolling my eyes, I turned to Eric. Thankfully, he and I seemed to be thinking along the same lines again.

"There'll be time for games later, Pam. We need to focus now on getting the bomb out of the hotel."

Pam sat on the sofa while I settled back on the loveseat. Eric walked over and I thought for a second he was going to sit next to me. I felt a shiver course down my spine as a warmth crept along my cheeks. Eric turned to look at me. He knew what I was feeling, of course.

When he finally took a seat next to Pam, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Pam, bemused, looked between the two of us.

"Now, I had an idea. How about we store the stuff on that land you own out in the middle of nowhere? It wouldn't bother anyone out in the woods." She twitched her nose. "Maybe it'll even increase the property values."

"Interesting suggestion. But there's no building on that property."

"We can call your favorite builder. He could probably put up something tonight." She paused. "I hear his men work like dogs."

I scowled at Pam who returned my look with an innocent smile. I figured she was talking about Alcide Herveaux. His men were _Werewolves;_ they weren't dogs.

Eric, meanwhile, appeared to be considering the suggestion. I hadn't really thought about what they'd do with the bomb once they'd gotten it out of the hotel. I guess I assumed it would somehow wind up at the Shreveport police station or at a police laboratory. It hadn't occurred to me that Eric and Pam's solution would be to hide it in the middle of the woods.

"Wait a minute! Shouldn't that stuff be turned over to the police?"

"Not yet," replied Eric.

"Not yet?" I repeated thunderstruck.

"Eric, you know something?" I saw a ghost of a smile play at Pam's lips; I knew this wouldn't be good. "Maybe Callisto will find it and _eat_ it. Do us a favor so we don't have to worry about disposing of it." The full smile came then. "We could even tell her it's more tribute."

My eyes wide, I glared at Pam. "Not funny, Pam! That maenad's nuts! You can't give her a bomb to play with!"

"Why Michele," Pam was showing a little fang. "You're every bit as feisty as your blonde counterpart, aren't you?"

I snorted in irritation.

Ignoring me, Pam focused on Eric. "So Eric? What do you think?"

"I think," Eric started thoughtfully, "it's a good idea." His eyes still on Pam, he nodded. "I believe we _can_ safely store the material on that property." That decision made, Eric was ready to get the ball rolling. "Who is available tonight?"

"Chow and Indira are at Fangtasia. Clancy and Thalia could be here quickly with the van."

"Fine. Get them down here. You supervise. Donati can let you into the suite. We must also replicate and replace the centerpieces. Tonight."

Incredulous, I realized they were really planning on dumping the bomb material in the woods.

"Hold on, hold on! Are you seriously gonna just dump this stuff in the woods for the maenad to get?" This would be Sam's one-time steady. The same crazy-eyed ho who clawed my back and poisoned me. "I don't feel comfortable with that idea _at all_." If I had a dollar for every time I had _that_ thought over the past six months. "Why can't we just call the police? Have them do their CSI thing and dust for fingerprints in Marnie's room and look for DNA and other clues?"

"Sookie." Pam sounded like she was trying to be patient with me; I felt like slugging her. "Whatever the police would find in Marnie's hotel suite would only lead them right back to Marnie and Mr. 1-800-Flowers."

"Pam's right, Sookie," Eric agreed. "We've gotten everything we can out of Prudhomme. If we turn the bomb over, the police will go after Prudhomme. They'll find his fingerprints but nothing leading to the true culprits. If they arrest him and take the bomb, the plot will fail but we still won't know any more than we do now."

"Going to the police will just postpone the inevitable, Sookie. Whoever's doing this will come back." Pam frowned. "It might be worse next time. They may be annoyed that we made them work doubly hard. I know I would be." She smiled; it was a little frightening. "What we need to do is ferret out the perpetrators."

"Yes," Eric said. "We must keep our discovery of the bomb quiet. No police. It's like I told you before. We must keep up appearances that the plot has not been uncovered."

Mulling over what I was hearing from the two vampires, I definitely saw some merit to their argument. That still didn't mean I was willing to trust that a shed in the middle of nowhere would safely keep a crazy ho maenad away from a bomb.

"What about a guard? How about having someone posted there as a lookout?"

Eric and Pam exchanged a look.

"I think it would make it more conspicuous. If Callisto didn't care, seeing a guard there would certainly make her reconsider."

Dammit. "Pam, what about your friend the witch? Maybe she could cast a spell to ward away that nasty ho?" Okay, I still held a grudge. I had permanent scars on my back from where the maenad's claws struck.

Eric chuckled. "Why don't we have Amelia place wards to protect the building from anyone not sanctioned by the owner? Hos and non-hos alike?"

I could tell Eric was amused by the issue I was taking with this scenario.

"Fine. Just do something."

Eric's gaze shot from me to Pam and back again. "I think _something_ can be arranged."

"Amelia has already agreed to help," replied Pam. "I'm sure doing such a spell wouldn't be an issue."

"Now, that that matter is settled," Eric's eyes once more traveled from Pam to me. "We need to come up with a plan to flush out the conspirators."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Assuming those responsible are to attend the gala, we need a way to draw them out. We must get them to reveal themselves."

At Eric's words, we all fell silent as we struggled to think up ways to get the bombers to out themselves. Doing a mental playback of the past week's events, I grew excited as an idea began to take shape in my mind.

"I have an idea."

Eric gestured, encouraging me to speak.

"Well, we need them to show their hand, right? That they know something is up?"

Eric and Pam both nodded.

"Anyone who comes and knows about the bomb is gonna want to get out of there."

Eric gave me a curious look. "Yes. That makes sense. What're you suggesting?"

"Tomorrow night, we have Donati call for a fake lockdown. Maybe we say another bomb was found outside—something, some kind of threat—and no one is allowed to leave the hotel until the police say it's okay."

Eric nodded. "If anyone shows distress at remaining inside the hotel and clamors to get out—"

"We'll know they know about the plot." I replied.

"Yes."

"That _might_ work," observed Pam. I could hear the slight hesitation in her voice.

"_Might_?" I asked.

"It'll only work if those responsible are there to begin with." Pam reasoned. "Why would they come if they know there is to be an explosion?"

"So they avoid suspicion," Eric replied simply. "They attend but conveniently leave before the trouble begins. I think compelling the florist to join the Fellowship of the Sun was a deliberate ruse to implicate humans. I believe vampires are responsible and those vampires are on the guest list."

Hearing Eric describe it so matter-of-factly, it certainly sounded not only plausible, but also highly likely.

"Eric, there is still that other matter—"

"Pam." Without warning, Eric's tone turned chilly. He stared stonily at his child. "I have already spoken to you about _that_."

Pam frowned, curling her lip. "Fine."

Lost in the weeds once more, I just glanced back and forth between the two of them. I wondered if their disagreement had to do with the Big Bad phone conversation. I tucked it away to think about later.

"So, Sookie, did you find out anything at the meeting?" Pam was nothing if not an excellent subject changer.

"Not really anything new." I hesitated. I felt a little disloyal, but I told myself I was being silly. "I still think Jake Purifoy might be in on it." I took a breath. "Quinn—"

"The tiger has shown his true spots?" asked Pam.

"Tigers don't have spots, Pam. Leopards have spots. Tigers have stripes." I retorted heatedly. "Anyway, about Quinn…I'm probably not telling you anything you don't already know. He doesn't exactly get a warm fuzzy when he's thinking about vampires."

"A warm fuzzy?"

"Pam! You know what I mean. He doesn't like you all."

"You think this absence of a warm fuzzy is strong enough to blow up a hotel filled with humans and supes as well as vampires?"

"No," I shook my head. "I don't. But he works with Jake and he's the only other E(E)E employee who has an obvious dislike of vampires. The others are less emphatic."

"Pam," Eric addressed her. "You need to resume your research on Jake Purifoy and Quinn."

"Yes, Eric" she replied. "I'll get to it when I get back to Fangtasia." Pam fell silent. As her unspoken words hung in the air, I braced myself. "So, you two. What are you going to do?"

Without missing a beat, Eric answered.

"I will continue my discussion with Sookie. She has not finished reporting on everything she learned."

"She hasn't? I thought she had." Pam glanced over at me, a wicked twinkle in her eye. "Sookie, have you not reported everything you learned?"

I started to speak but Eric shot me an unmistakable look. I cleared my throat and reconsidered my words. Maybe it was time to go downstairs.

"Actually, I should probably check in with Christian on which of the guests have arrived," I answered. Totally at sea, I looked from Eric to Pam.

"Oh," Pam nodded. "I see. Have it your way then." She turned to Eric. "I'll call you when we've got the stuff safely stowed. So, I'm calling the Were to put something up?"

"Yes."

"How big?"

"Big enough." He shrugged. "Prefab is fine. We just need it to be secure."

"Right. I'll talk to you later." Done with Eric, Pam turned to face me. "Sookie."

"See you later, Pam."

With Pam gone, I was again alone with Eric. For all her annoying innuendos, I missed her immediately. I didn't know if it was all those loaded throwaways or something else, but Pam left in her wake a palpable heaviness hanging in the air. Eric's irrational jealousy over Quinn and our earlier argument had given birth to something. Pam's charged innuendos had only served to fan the flames. Now, that we were alone in his hotel suite (!), the electricity in the atmosphere was nearly tangible. Like embers burning long after the flames had been doused, something was brewing just below the surface.

"What shall we do now, my Sookie?" Eric sat hunched forward, his fingers threaded, his elbows perched on his knees.

Staring at my shoes, I let out a breath. I felt another blush work its way across my features. What_ should _we do_ now_?

"I don't know about you, but I really ought to be getting back to work." I brought my eyes up to Eric's. "Remember? Find out who checked in?"

In seconds, Eric was off the sofa and closed the distance between us. Suddenly he was crouched in front of me and I had to angle my head up slightly to meet his gaze. I heard him snicker. "There's plenty of time for that. Besides, I'm your boss so you don't _need_ to get back to work. You _are_ at work." Well, I didn't have to call Pam's sexual harassment hotline to know something wasn't right with that logic. But then again what happened next probably wasn't right, either.

Eric removed my eyeglasses and placed them, neatly folded, beside me on the cushion of the love seat. He brought his eyes back to meet mine. I knew it was silly but I felt a little exposed as the two thin glass lenses no longer separated my eyes from his, which were smoldering and beautiful.

I knew it was coming, but I was still a little in shock when Eric lowered his head and laid his lips on mine. I felt a warm tingle reverberate from my lips down my spine, hitting my toes and then back up again. At his tongue's gentle prodding, I opened my mouth. My warm tongue danced with his cool one. A long and delicious kiss, my body undeniably enjoyed it. But, even as I longed to melt into him, I mentally chastised myself for devolving, so easily, so quickly, so completely, into a quivering mess.

Battling an onslaught of lightheadedness, I finally gathered my resolve and pulled back. "Eric, this is so _not_ what I get paid to do. I should be downstairs at the desk."

"What time is it?"

I glanced at the digital clock on the television. "Five after eight."

"You're off the clock then."

"No," I shook my head. "I'm scheduled to work late tonight." _As if_ _that were the only reason __this shouldn't happen! _"Besides, it doesn't matter if I'm off-duty. You're still my boss."

Looking at me, Eric quirked an eyebrow. "How about I fire you for a few hours and then rehire you?"

I couldn't help but laugh at his unmitigated outrageousness. "Seriously, Eric? You really want to get into my pants that badly?"

Eric seemed surprised by my words. Or maybe he was surprised by something else? He opened and closed his lips, like he was going to say something and stopped himself. "You _are _different, Sookie_."_

"Yeah, I am," I nodded. "I'll agree with you there." There couldn't be too many telepathic barmaids running around the country.

"The fact that you can't be glamoured…is unique_." _He paused._ "__You _are unique___."_

"Are you saying I'm a challenge?"

"Most definitely," he nodded. His gorgeous grin nearly left me breathless.

"How do you know you don't just want me _because _I'm a challenge?"

For a brief second, Eric seemed stumped. Then, catching me off-guard, he leaned down and kissed me again. Unlike the long, deep, breathless kiss from a few minutes earlier, this kiss was light, restrained, and gentle. It was chaste and almost sweet. His tongue didn't seek entrance, though I expected it and—to be honest—wanted it. It didn't matter. I still felt the kiss in every nerve cell in my body.

"There." I opened my eyes to see Eric's blue eyes glowing bright before me. "I want you just as much when you're being compliant with me as when you're challenging me."

At Eric's words, my breath hitched and my mouth went a little dry. It was my turn to be stumped. The look on Eric's face was serious; his eyes were playful. This was Serious Eric _and _Comfortable-with-Contractions Eric. Was this _all of Eric?_

Just as I was contemplating what it would be like to make love to Eric, a loud buzzing sounded nearby. Startled, my eyes darted around the room looking for the phone.

Eric, of course, knew exactly where it was. Annoyed, he stalked over to answer it. Visibly agitated, I assumed his thoughts mirrored my own.

Put out by our interruption, I concentrated on regulating my breath. I reminded myself we had no time for such activities. Marnie was still on the loose, as was Irena. Rafe Prudhomme could be a walking target. Maybe we ought to have someone keeping an eye on him? The very vamps responsible for the bomb could be checking in downstairs right at that moment for all we knew.

My mind wandering back to the phone call, I wondered if maybe it was Bubba? Or possibly that little vamp Bernard from Mississippi? Really, it could have been any number of people. There were probably enough folks around to form an Eric/Sookie Cockblockers Anonymous Group. More likely it was Pam. I frowned as I realized that didn't make sense. Pam would have called Eric's cell phone—_Ain't We Got Fun?—_not the room phone. I turned my attention back to Eric.

A grim look on his face, I saw him nod. I concentrated on hearing his half of the conversation.

"Where?" Seeing me trying to listen in on the call, Eric replaced the receiver and hit the conference button.

"He was found on the first floor. In the corridor that leads to the garage entrance." It took me a few seconds to place the voice but I eventually identified it as Christian Baruch.

"Who found him?" asked Eric.

"One of the E(E)E staffers returning from a smoke break."

"Where is he now?"

"He's with the E(E)E staffers in the casino."

"Fine. Thank you, Christian. Let them know we'll be down shortly." He paused. "Is Ms. Ravenscroft there?"

"She was for a while, but a couple of vamps came and now I don't see them."

"Very well."

Click.

I stood up, grabbing my glasses off the cushion. "What happened?"

"The florist was found in a catatonic state. They believe he's under a spell of witchcraft."

Oh! Geez Louise! It just kept getting better.

"Come." Eric was halfway to the door. "They're waiting for us."

"Us, huh?" Still recovering from the Call-That-Could-Be-Heard-Around-The-World, I wasn't in the best mood. Eric seemed to have recovered himself well enough.

At my slightly snarky reply, Eric stopped in his tracks, turned and looked back at me. "Yes. Is there a problem?" He smiled at me and, for once, I didn't detect the cockiness that he usually wore like a second skin. I felt myself soften at his grin.

"No. I just—" How could I explain this? "I can understand them waiting on _you, _but no one would ever wait on_me."_

Eric took a step forward, closing the gap between us. He captured my eyes with his own.

"You're wrong, my Sookie." He tucked several strands of hair behind my ear. "They require the presence of us both." Dropping a hand on my shoulder, he gently caressed my arm as his arm made its way down. "Especially _you."_ Eric, smiling, took my hand in his. Sure, I knew he was flirting with me. But, I knew he was serious, too. Returning his smile, I nodded. Hand in hand, we left the suite.

* * *

**AN: Aw. I told you all I was shipping Eric and Sookie. Don't worry. As for whether or not there will be lemons, all I'm going to say is this is a _love _story. Thanks for reading/reviewing!**


	21. You Know Why

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball. **

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious**

* * *

Minutes later Eric and I were approaching the main hall outside the casino. Inside the casino, we saw that a small crowd had gathered. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was the E(E)E employees surrounding Rafe Prudhomme, our hapless florist. (He might just be the one person in northern Louisiana who had worse luck than I did.)

Rafe was sitting on a high top bar stool, looking dazed. I was taken aback by the vacant look in his eyes. Again, I couldn't confirm he'd been glamoured. Dipping into his head didn't reveal the Swiss cheese pattern of an over-glamoured human. Instead, his brain just didn't show his thoughts. Or, rather, his thoughts were a dark morass, cloaked and untouchable. Considering I'd been looking into his head only a short time earlier, I found the new development rather alarming.

"Who found him?" Eric directed his question at the E(E)E crew.

"Frannie." It was Bettina who answered.

"My sister." John Quinn added. He jerked his chin, gesturing to Frannie as he spoke. Quinn seemed to be studiously avoiding looking in my direction.

Eric, nodding, shot a glance at the girl.

I, too, turned to look at Frannie. One of her hands was nervously playing with a strand of bleached blonde hair. If I had to describe her in a word, the word would be haunted.

"We need to question her," Eric said sharply.

"She doesn't have to talk to you." Quinn practically growled at Eric.

Considering the hostility of their earlier interaction, I wasn't exactly surprised by the bitterness in Quinn's voice. Given the circumstances, however, not allowing Frannie to be interviewed was definitely not the right thing to do.

"I beg to differ, tiger." Eric, apparently, was of a same mind. "I _own_ this hotel and I _will_ speak to your sister. Is this understood?" Okay, I probably would've taken a different approach.

Surprisingly, despite the menace evident in Eric's voice, Quinn didn't back down. "Forget it, Northman. She's just a kid and I'm her guardian and what I say goes."

Just then Quinn turned his head, looking away from Eric. I got the feeling it was more an excuse to throw a surreptitious glance in my direction.

Feeling more than a little self-conscious, I brought my hand up to my head. I wondered whether it was obvious by my slightly mussed hair that I'd been enfolded in Eric's arms only a short time earlier. Or maybe my lips—with the gloss long gone—revealed the telltale signs of our all-too-brief interlude. Although it hadn't been long, it had been a bit on the steamy side. At least the first kiss. Remembering the kiss, I felt a blush warm my cheeks.

"Hey, hey." Suddenly Hondo was speaking and bringing me back to reality. "No reason to get into it." He stopped, glancing from Quinn to Frannie. "Quinn, my man. Frannie's the witness. Frannie, you gotta tell what you saw," he twisted around to face her. "You know Rafe. We gotta figure this out so we can help him."

Quinn exhaled deeply and shook his head as though to clear it. Frannie, meanwhile, nodded silently, her eyes wide and fearful. As Eric went to take a step closer to her, she flinched and took a step back. Reaching out, I grabbed Eric's arm and held it. Stilled, he shot me a questioning look.

"Maybe, I can question Frannie?" I suggested, looking from Eric to Quinn.

Eric's eyes were impassive; his features revealed nothing. I figured he wasn't the one that needed convincing anyway.

"Well, Michele," Quinn's near-violet eyes appraised me coolly. At the sight of my hand resting on Eric's arm, he frowned. I dropped my arm to my side. "I know you're new to the hotel, _although maybe not new to the owners_." I slanted my eyes at that comment; there was a world of insinuation there. "Anyhow, fact of the matter is, this is witchcraft and—as that's the case—we know who did it. Marnie. End of story."

Eric's lips did a downturn. "A valid theory, but for the fact that Marnie has not been seen at the hotel today. Security has," he paused, as though searching for the best words, "_specific_ _instructions _on how to deal with Ms. Stonebrook."

There was a pregnant pause. I wondered if Eric was going to tell them about the Were trackers that were also looking for Marnie, but he didn't.

"We need to speak to Frannie, as she is the only witness to the florist's incapacitation."

Quinn, unhappy, fixed his gaze on Eric. Unyielding, Eric met the weretiger's stare. This staredown went on a tad too long, according to Michele Landers, Private Investigator.

"Oh! Come on, you two!" Frustrated, I was ready to lose my temper; my voice came out sounding more than little tense. "None of this is helping Rafe! And none of this is helping us find Marnie! And none of this is helping us figure out what the heck is going on!"

Quinn, eyes wide, turned to stare at me. Startled by my outburst, he seemed equally surprised by Eric's reaction to my outburst.

Eric, a wry smile on his face, just lifted a blonde eyebrow. "Yes, Michele," he replied easily.

"Okay," agreed Quinn. His eyes went to his sister. "Frannie, I'm sorry. But you're gonna have to answer _Michele's_ questions."

"Yeah, they always get their way," Frannie replied sullenly.

I opened my mouth to speak but Eric beat me to the punch. It wasn't lost on me that Eric taking over the interview pretty much proved Frannie's bitter point. I slanted my eyes as I turned to look at him. He ignored the daggers I was shooting into to the side of his beautiful face.

"Where was the florist when you found him?" Eric's eyes didn't stray from Frannie. Frannie, meanwhile, had her eyes fixed on her Chuck Taylors like the meaning of life was scribbled on the rubber. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke.

"He was in the hallway out by the garage."

"Why were you there?"

"I snuck out for a smoke."

I glanced over at Quinn. His frown deepened at her words.

"Who else did you see nearby?"

"No one."

Although Eric had commandeered the questioning, I had been reading her thoughts as she spoke. I knew she was holding something back. Inside her head, I could see that she didn't trust Eric and was afraid of him. She was afraid that if she was honest about what she saw, she'd get caught up in vampire drama just like her brother and her family had enough troubles with vampires.

"Frannie," I twisted my head around to force eye contact with the girl. "If you know something more, you really need to tell us. We're trying to make sure no one else gets hurt." Her eyes raged at me. _Red-haired fangbanging slut_. Ouch. "I promise nothing will happen to you." I forced a smile.

Quinn must have sensed something in my tone. He leaned down so that he was eye level with his sister. "Frannie? Do you know something you're not telling?"

Sighing, Frannie shot me yet another look of hatred. So far this week, I had Bobby, Marnie, and now Frannie as members of the Northern Louisiana Sookie Haters Club. Sighing, I wondered if I could actually start the club myself and charge membership?

"I saw him talking to a woman." She finally spit out.

"What did the woman look like?" I asked.

Frannie shrugged. "Long hair. Tall. Pretty. Expensive clothes. High heels."

Glancing into her head, I saw the woman just as Frannie had seen her. The woman had been walking ahead of Frannie as the two made their way from the garage entrance. At first Frannie had only seen the woman's back. Tall and shapely, the woman had long brown hair. Wearing slacks and a pea coat, the woman walked gracefully towards Rafe, who had been standing by the wall checking messages on his cell phone. Frannie's observations about the woman were mostly unflattering. She'd pegged her as a high-priced vamp meal. Startled, I realized Frannie's thoughts echoed my own recent sentiments about a certain exotic dancer.

Seeing the image in Frannie's mind at the precise moment she saw the woman's face for the first time, I bit down on my lip in an effort not to give myself away. I felt like I'd been punched in the face. It _was_ Yvetta. Frannie continued to describe Yvetta in halting terms. I willed myself to be quiet so I wouldn't give myself away.

"I have an idea who it might be." I said this with no small amount of urgency.

Frannie fell silent as all sets of eyes turned to look at me.

"Who do you think it is?" asked Eric.

"It sounds like a dancer I've seen around Shreveport." I threw a meaningful look at Eric, who acknowledged my words with only the slightest of nods. Realizing Yvetta was a dangerous witch _in addition to_ being Eric's former favorite spot for _eating out_ was not a good moment. My eyes widened as the full story started to play out in my mind. "She must be in on this. She must've been in on this the whole time."

After I had conveyed my suspicion that Yvetta had put the spell on Rafe Prudhomme, several things kicked into high gear.

First, Eric got Pam to text over a photo of the dancer. Frannie positively identified Yvetta as the woman she saw with Rafe.

The photo was then circulated to Todd Donati in the security department. They were given orders to add Yvetta to the considered armed and dangerous list.

From my spot a few feet away, I was able to overhear Eric's conversation with Donati. I saw the head security guard glance at me as he relayed my instructions about shoving something in Marnie's mouth to Eric. Nodding his head, Eric turned to look at me, a smile on his face. Embarrassed, I shifted my gaze over to the E(E)E staffers who stood chatting nearby.

After a few moments, Eric joined me.

"Pam will be back shortly. She is to bring you home."

"What? Why? Isn't she busy with the…the…_stuff_?"

Admittedly, while the realization that the number of witches-with-the-hots-for-Eric had doubled did not bode well for my sense of personal safety, I didn't understand Eric's calling Pam back to drive me home. It seemed that everyone had enough going on without taking turns babysitting the telepath.

Eric nodded. "That situation is under control. Clancy and Thalia are capable of seeing it through."

"Eric, I don't need Pam to babysit me. I can get myself home."

Eric's eyes bored into my own.

"_Mmm... Michele_," The strange name fell sensuously from his lips in a way my real name never did. He leaned down; his words were a whisper in my ear. "_Do you really think I am going to change my mind_?"

Feeling his breath on the nape of my neck, I had to make a concerted effort control my breathing. "No," was all I could get out.

"_You're right_," he whispered. "_Why argue_?" He straightened his body while I scolded mine.

Not trusting myself to speak, I rolled my eyes.

"The only reason I'm not delivering you home myself is I need to remain here and figure out what to do with our florist."

ooOOOoo

A short while later, I found myself in the car with Pam. Just like Eric, she insisted on driving. What's more, she insisted on driving _just like Eric_.

Deciding to take advantage of the fact that I didn't have to worry about driving (not to say I wasn't worried about the drive, but keeping my eyes off the road—under the circumstances—seemed the best thing), I pulled out my cell phone to give my brother a call. He picked up right away.

"Hey Sook." He sounded wary. When did I get promoted to Official Killjoy of Bon Temps?

"Jason. How are you?"

"Pretty good, pretty good."

"Good," I paused. How to broach this? "Listen, about the gala tomorrow night…"

"Yeah?"

"You still planning on going?" I listened as the line went quiet.

"Yeah, Sook. Crystal's got her heart set on it. She says she doesn't get out too much. She's from Hotshot. Told you that, didn't I?"

Did he tell me that? Couldn't remember. "Yeah, I seem to recall you saying something." I took a deep breath. "Well, if you're insisting on going, I just wanna fill you in on a couple of things."

"Oh yeah? What's up, Sook?"

"Well, for one thing, Sam's gonna be there."

"Oh, yeah? Wow, this is gonna be a cool party. All us Bon Temps folks are gonna show Shreveport how to do it right!"

I pondered my brother's simple approach to life. I didn't know how he managed to live like he had barely a care in the world. "Yeah, Jase. It's gonna be great." Pam, bemused, shot a glance in my direction. Agitated, I gestured for her to keep her eyes on the road. Like maker, like child apparently. The fangs didn't fall far from the coffin? I muffled a snicker. "The other thing about the party is I think you should just use your girlfriend's uncle's name."

"What? You mean the name on the invitation?"

"Yeah." I didn't feel comfortable sharing this information but if I had a hope of him —as well as me — getting out of the hotel in one piece, I figured I ought to clue him in at least a little. "Some vampires I met when I went to Dallas with Bill may be there. They'll recognize the name Stackhouse…" How complicated is my life I have to instruct my brother to use a fake name when going to a party 45 minutes from our hometown? "It might not be a good thing. So you should just use your girl's name. What did you say it was?"

"Crystal. Crystal Norris. Her uncle is Calvin Norris. The invitation was to him."

"Right. So use those names. Or, at least, use Norris. Don't tell anyone your name is Stackhouse. I'll make sure the guest list says Jason and Crystal Norris. Okay?"

"Uh, sure Sook. If you think it's best—"

"I do, Jason! Believe me!"

"Well, all right. Might be fun." He fell silent while I prayed he didn't feel like elaborating on what he thought might be "fun" about using the name Norris. "Maybe Crystal and me could do a little role-playing." No such luck. Thanks Jason. Damn Pam and her vamp hearing. A big smirk on her face, my personal chauffeur turned again to look at me.

"Okay, Jase. Glad to hear you're okay with doing that. Be careful tomorrow night. Stay by Sam. If there's trouble, just do what Sam says, okay?"

"Sure, Sook. You know you can count on me." I pulled the phone away from my ear to stare at it like it was a snake. '_You know you can count on me?'_ Really? Trying to dismiss the bitterness I felt at my brother's words which only spoke to his total lack of self-awareness, I gave myself a mental shake. I already had enough on my plate without giving in to a pity party of Oprah proportions.

"Well, thanks Jase." I could see we'd run out of conversation for the moment. "I'm nearly home now. So I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yep." I could hear him pause as he struggled with something. "Hey, I'm looking forward to you meeting Crystal, Sook. She's something special."

Wow. Could my mercurial Romeo of a brother have finally met his match?

"I'm happy for you, Jase." Well, that much was true. I'm not a completely bitter person. "I'm looking forward to meeting her." That was less true but I told myself it was more the nature of the occasion — a vampire gala likely accessorized with bombs and other deadly accoutrements — than it was that I didn't want to meet someone who seemed to make my only brother happy.

Click. Hoping Pam didn't have any interest in pursuing that role-playing conversation—_ick_!—I put my phone away and turned my head to look out the car window.

"Sookie, your brother sounds like quite the charmer. I hope to meet him tomorrow." She paused. "Do you think he and his lady-friend might like another female for their role-playing game?"

Cringing, I turned to face Pam. "Pam, please. Can we change the subject?"

Watching me, Pam seemed to be weighing the amusement potential if she continued to tease me about my brother's interest in roleplaying or if she moved on to another topic. That alone should've tipped me off. Her next words proved how dead on (har de har) I was in my assessment.

"Certainly, Sookie. What else shall we discuss? Oh, I know! You'll be happy to return to your natural hair color, won't you? So you may wear your velvet shawl again? The color of the shawl contrasts so nicely with your blonde hair."

Incredulous, I turned to glare at Pam. I'd heard her tease Eric about the shawl. Now she was teasing _me_ about the shawl. Alcide Herveaux had given me the shawl the previous fall to replace my old one, which his murderous ex, Debbie, had ruined with a cigarette. Pam got a lot of mileage out of Alcide's shawl.

"Pam, the shawl is black!" I didn't even try to mask my exasperation. "Black goes with everything! The shawl looks fine with red hair!" Done with my outburst, I bit the bullet. In a lower tone I asked what I was really dying to know. "Why do you like teasing Eric about the shawl so much?"

"You know why."

"No, I don't."

Pam didn't say anything. Turning away from the windshield, she looked at me, her face a mixture of fondness and frustration.

"And why does Eric have you researching 'wooing'?"

"Sookie, you know the answers to these questions. They are not great mysteries. You may pretend you don't. You may wish it were something else. You may be uncomfortable with his attentions," she continued to watch me, "but they are genuine."

I let out a breath and promptly forgot how to take another one. I think I was a little in shock. Pam seemed to be telling me her thousand year old maker/dad/business partner _like-liked_ me. I knew Eric wanted to have sex with me—he'd told me so on several occasions. But could he actually have feelings for me?

"Pam?"

"Yes?

"His attentions…you mean more than just wanting to have sex with me?"

Pam smiled. "You are naïve, aren't you?"

Feeling a wave of insult, I was ready to go on the defensive but reconsidered. Pam was a 200 year-old vampire and I was a 26 year old barmaid. If any of my acquaintances was going to label me naïve, Pam seemed more justified than say, my friend Tara or JB. Although since I doubted JB knew what naïve meant, I doubted he would ever call me that anyway.

My mind spiraling onto a tangent, my thoughts turned to wondering what it would be like to date Eric. Bill's lifestyle was pretty low-key in comparison to what Eric had going on with the political intrigue, Fangtasia and the El Dorado. Bill and I had managed to see movies and go out once in a while. It was harder to imagine doing simple date-like stuff with Eric, given how busy he was in comparison.

Of course, as much time as Bill-the-Cheater was able to devote to me, he still managed to find time to cheat.

Maybe the more jobs, the better when it came to boyfriends? Less time for cheating. Though, when I thought about it, I figured I could count two jobs for Bill. One, he maintained a vampire database. Two, he was a landlord (he owned a small retail center where my friend Tara had a ladies' clothing boutique, Tara's Togs).

Eric still had him beat by at least one job.

"Sookie? Sookie?" Startled out of my reverie I realized Pam had killed the engine and we were sitting in my driveway.

"Sorry, Pam. Lost in my thoughts."

"I understand." She grinned pointedly at me. "Eric will do that." Wanting to argue with her, I just blushed. In for a penny, in for a pound as my gran would say.

"Why did Yvetta leave?"

"What did Eric tell you?"

"He said he…uh…demoted her to just being a dancer."

"Yes," Pam nodded. "He ceased their intimate relationship in light of new developments."

My eyes widened at that. "What 'new developments'?"

Pam shot me another look of frustration. "_You_, Sookie. _You_ are his new developments. He did not want to fire her outright—I think I actually gave him pause with my little sexual harassment joke. He told her their association was no more. She was to only be a dancer. He figured she'd quit in a huff, which is precisely what she did."

Oh. Wow. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. No, make that a _witch_ scorned. No, make that _two witches_. Two witches both lusting after Eric. Yvetta, unlike Marnie, had actually seen me with Eric. Not only that, Eric had sent her away from his table when I'd arrived at Fangtasia. Even worse, he dumped her soon thereafter. Remembering the venom in her head as she walked past me in the club, I figured I was on her shit list. Oh, crap. Another member for the Northern Louisiana Sookie Haters Club.

"Pam, I know from Chow, all a witch needs is something personal to a person to cast a spell on them. What if Yvetta gets into my car or my house? Or tracks me down at the hotel? What if she gets something of mine?"

Pam nodded thoughtfully. "I am thinking we should have Amelia cast protective wards around your home. Maybe tomorrow as soon as she arrives." Pam fell silent, formulating plans in her head. "In the meantime, I am to accompany you into your house and then we are driving back to Shreveport."

"_What?_ I thought you were just escorting me home?"

"Sookie, even had you not just planted the seed in my mind that you are now under threat from Yvetta, I was under strict orders not to let you out of my sight. Considering everything, you're lucky he's letting you out of his sight at all."

Oh. I must've looked every bit as stunned as I felt. Pam nodded at my unspoken questions.

"Our current theory is that someone is planning a takeover of Louisiana."

Catching more flies. "No." I sounded much more emphatic than I felt.

Pam nodded but continued her narrative without missing a beat. "_You_ are at risk. So I am bringing you back to my home in Shreveport. We will have a slumber party."

There was so much wrong with what Pam just said, not the least of which the part about the slumber party.

After sitting in a daze for a couple of minutes, I figured it was time to get out of the car. Putting out my mental feelers, I confirmed there were no other beings nearby. Finally we climbed out of the car and Pam pulled out her cell phone.

Forcing my brain to work, I zeroed in on what seemed the most salient point. "Why do you and Eric think I'm at risk?"

Pam looked at me and she seemed torn, like she was debating whether or not to answer my question. Briefly I wondered if this had to do with the two earlier incidents. Was she going to tell me about the Big Bad? I was grateful when she finally spoke since I seemed to have given up breathing as I waited for her to respond.

"Did you not think it strange the Were-witch Mark Stonebrook knew of the Area Five telepath?"

Yes. No. I didn't know what to think. "I just figured—after Jackson—maybe it got to be known. A little bit, anyways."

Pam shook her head. "No, Sookie. We do not promote such knowledge. Alcide, though his judgment warrants much circumspection, did not tell anyone. A spy has been taking an appraisal of Area Five assets."

"Assets? But I'm a person, not an asset!"

"Count yourself fortunate to be both."

I'd definitely have to think about that. "Who are you calling, anyway?" I asked as I slipped the key into the front door.

"I am going to have Bubba guard your home in your absence. And we will make provisions for a security detail to come during the day. I am also calling the supe cleaning service."

"What? Why? My house is clean." I glanced around the hall entry to confirm my assertion. It felt like I hadn't spent any time at my house since forever.

"Trust me, Sookie. You do not want to take chances…"

"You mean with witches?"

"Witches, Weres, fairies…"

Oh yeah. "Eric told you about that?"

"Of course," she nodded. "He tells me what I need to know so that I am prepared to protect you. Whatever you may think of Eric, he very much wants you alive and well."

Yeah, I was starting to understand how much Eric wanted me. Alive. Well. I was flattered, excited and terrified. I couldn't for the life of me tell which feeling I felt the strongest.

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**AN: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! ****For the record, my fave line is Pam's little tough love speech, starting with "Sookie, you know the answers..." I love Pam.**

**Banner: I finally got the whole banner to post. It's Fangtasia on the left and the casino on the right. Check my Fanfic profile for the link. Who knew playing with ASSkars pics could be so much fun? (Well aside, of course, from ****Momma2Leos).**


	22. Recap and Voicemail from Pam

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious**

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**AN: This is the Dead Man Abridged Cliff Notes designed to get you caught up on everything without rereading Ch 1-21. It does advance the story, so don't even think about trying to skip it... Chapter 23 will be posted soon...Please review. Let me know if you spot anything I missed... :D This fic has me one fry short of a Happy Meal :D **

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I woke up rather late on Saturday, or at least, it was late for me. The guest room Pam had me settled in did not have an alarm clock. Though I set my cell phone's alarm, it wasn't loud enough so I slept through it for a half hour. I wasn't particularly worried about getting to work on time. Mostly because I was too busy worrying about other things.

When I asked Pam why she didn't just bring me back to 5 Cayuga Trail like Eric had, she had airily informed me that she'd happily let me host the _next_ slumber party. After she brought me to my room, Pam left to work on her computer. I figured this was the real reason we'd gone back to her place. Maybe she also thought it was safer than 5 Cayuga Trail.

In any case, Pam's house, like the El Dorado, caught me by surprise. Just in the different way. For some reason, I'd gotten into the habit of picturing Pam living in a mansion. It was odd to discover she actually lived in a large ranch-style house in an upper-middle-class suburb. A picture-perfect neighborhood, it was complete with trimmed lawns, bike lanes, and lawn sprinklers. It was so American Dream, the idea that vampires lived there seemed incongruous if not outright subversive. The house had an attached three-car garage and a concrete apron to accommodate overflow parking. I couldn't help but wonder why Pam needed all that extra parking? Slumber parties?

Pam's rather perfunctory (read: non-existent) tour of the house consisted of me following her through the garage, the laundry room, the kitchen, and finally to the "family" room. The kitchen was disproportionately tiny given the size of the house; it was almost like it had been designed with vampires or supermodels in mind. (ha ha) With the house's open floor plan, you could see over the kitchen's breakfast bar into the family room. The family room, in addition to an expensive wall-mounted television screen, two sofas, a recliner, several solid wood end tables, and a built-in bookcase, also had a computer desk in one corner. There were three open doorways that led into the formal living room, the dining room, and the bedroom area.

If I was somewhat off in my preconceived ideas about Pam's house, I was right on in my theory that Pam and Chow were roommates. Walking into the family room, my eyes immediately fell on several antique Asian weapons hanging on the wall. Gesturing to them, I silently conveyed my interest to Pam, whose only response had been a muttered "more of Chow's flair for the dramatic."

Lying back on the fluffy yet firm pillows, I did a mental calculation of how long it would take me to get to the El Dorado. That done, I decided to stay in bed an extra ten minutes. Although not a mansion, Pam and Chow hadn't skimped on their house's interior decor. The guest bed was obviously good quality, the bedding luxurious. The furniture was sparse, limited to a dresser and nightstand but they were solid and seemed expensive.

Okay, enough of Home and Garden Network, back to the Mystery Channel.

ooOOOoo

_What was the status of our investigation? Answers..._

Mark Stonebrook had been captured and was safely imprisoned in Fangtasia's basement guarded at night by vampires and Shreveport Weres during the day. (Was Eric really allowing Weres in Fangtasia during the day? I'd have to ask...) Mark, along with the mysterious Irena, had been responsible for the vampire stakings at the El Dorado. Mark said the killings (and the bomb plot) were all part of a wider plot to discredit Eric and Area Five. Although Marnie Stonebrook, Mark's sister, had been issuing the marching orders, we knew from Mark that someone else was really pulling the strings. There was also a mystery vamp actively involved in the plot. The hotel's fake room attendant.

Marnie also had Mark following Eric, allegedly to find out about his "relationship" with Yvetta. While this could've been a simple manifestation of Marnie's "Eric-Lust" (new Webster's term?), it also could've been related to the plot and Marnie just lied to Mark about it.

Rafe Prudhomme, the florist, the one who mixed together the bomb cocktail, was now a shell of his former self. Compelled by witchcraft to join the Fellowship of the Sun, we didn't know how the poor man had actually gotten caught up on the bomb plot. While everyone initially thought Marnie had compelled him, we now knew it was Yvetta who had put the catatonic whammy on him. I hoped when all this was over, something could be done for him. That was, of course, assuming we all made it out okay. (Go optimism!)

Next up was Marnie, Witch #1, who, as far as I knew, remained at-large. Although members of the Shreveport Were pack had been assigned to follow her yesterday, they'd been given the slip and wound up following another woman, Irena, the vampire slayer. Irena lost the Weres and Marnie's whereabouts were still unknown. I was starting to suspect that Marnie was no longer a threat; I thought she had gone where all Androgenous Witch Werewolf Twins eventually wind up. HBO. No seriously, I was starting to think she was dead. What else could possibly keep her from excoriating (Word of the Day!) me hour after hour?

We had Witch #2, the scorned Yvetta who blamed me for Eric dumping her. What did we know about Yvetta? I hadn't even had a chance to process the part about Yvetta being involved. If Yvetta had been planted as a spy at Fangtasia from the beginning—which seemed far more likely than her conveniently discovering a plot to take down Eric two days after he dumped her—we had to find out who was she getting her orders from? Where had she come from? I couldn't help but see Lorena/Bill parallels to the Yvetta/Eric situation. I had been miffed at Eric's cavalier attitude towards Yvetta. Apparently, he had been right to keep Yvetta at arm's length and he ought to have been keeping her at football field length.

We found the bomb stuff that Rafe (and Marnie?) had made to blow up the gala. The Area Five vamps had removed it from the hotel and, if everything had gone according to plan, it was now securely hidden in a Herveaux Construction -built storage shed in the woods. The second part of the plan was that Amelia Broadway, a special friend of Pam's, was going to cast protective wards around the building to keep folks away.

___What was the status of our investigation?_ Questions...

Even though we had the explosives and we had Mark Stonebrook and the florist was no longer a threat, we still didn't know who was behind the plot. Eric and Pam's suspicion was that the murders and the bombing were maneuvers to discredit Eric and Area Five and that they were also part of a larger takeover scheme. As awful as that sounded—and I thought it sounded pretty damn awful—it kind of made sense. Pam's point about Mark Stonebrook knowing Area Five had a telepath because someone had been doing their homework hit home.

If it _was_ the work of rival vamps, how many more spies did they have in Area Five? Did they have something else planned? Would they think something was wrong because Marnie had disappeared and Rafe Prudhomme was incapacitated? What about Yvetta's disappearance? Who else was involved? Jake Purifoy? John Quinn? As much as he seemed to hate vamps, I didn't think Quinn would willingly go along with a plot to kill and maim innocent people. But if he had been forced—?

Our plan for the gala was to pretend the plot hadn't been uncovered and just let everything go as originally planned. Until some point in the evening when the hotel's security director, Todd Donati, would announce that there was bomb threat in the vicinity of the hotel. To protect everyone inside the hotel, we'd go into lockdown mode. With no one allowed to leave the hotel because of a _possible bomb_ _outside_, the only folks who would clamor to get out would be those afraid of a _definite bomb inside_.

_As for my personal recap…_

The membership of the Northern Louisiana Sookie Haters Club had grown exponentially (thanks a lot, Word of the Day) overnight. In addition to the two witches, I now had Frannie Quinn, hostile witness, and Bobby Burnham, hostile asshole, gunning for me.

There still remained the mystery of the fairy—Stinker Bell? har de har—whom Eric detected on my property several nights earlier. We hadn't had an opportunity to discuss it so I didn't know if I was on the lookout for a Tinker Bell-type fairy or a David Bowie-Labyrinth type fairy. Maybe I could ask Eric about it later. After the gala. If it still seemed relevant. If we were all still around.

My closest relative, my brother Jason, was also gonna be attending the gala with his latest, Crystal Norris from Hotshot. Since most of Jason's thought processes seemed to originate below the waist, I had little faith that he'd be able to keep himself out of trouble. Thankfully my boss and friend-who-happens-to-be-a-collie, Sam, was also gonna be there and had promised to keep an eye on Jase. Maybe Sam could also help sniff out (ha ha) some trouble.

There was also _that_, or _it_; the _Big Bad_ I feared was on the horizon from Eric and Pam. Of course, _it_ could also have just been a case of my over-active imagination. Hopefully, _that_ was all _it _was.

And then there was Eric himself. I wasn't sure what I'd done to capture his attention the way I had, but there no longer seemed to be any way around it; I had a thousand year old vampire interested in me. While that might seem out-of-the league for a lot of girls, the fact that my only other boyfriend had been a 170-year old vampire possibly left me slightly better qualified than most to play the role of Eric's girlfriend (?).

But still I couldn't help but think that it was crazy.

Eric was a thousand years old. _Thousand_. I was positive a big part of Eric's interest in me was because he couldn't glamour me. Not used to not getting his way, I was a challenge to him in a way few women were. I mean what else could it be? I had trouble wrapping my head around the idea that anything I had going on could be all that fascinating to someone who'd been around as long as Eric and had seen as much as Eric.

If I had sex with Eric, I was afraid he would, like Bill, lose interest and leave.

If I'd learned one thing from my final weeks with Bill, it was that a real couple needed to have stuff in common. Before Bill had been kidnapped—_before he'd left to go meet up with Lorena_—he'd been squirreling himself away at his computer. Our conversations had devolved into these awkward and tense back-and-forths. Of course, hindsight being twenty-twenty, now I knew that tension was from him hiding all his secrets. The database. His work for the Queen. His dissatisfaction with me and his desire to be reunited with his ex. Yep, that pretty much summed up the Final Days of Bill and Sookie.

Back to Eric. What on earth could I possibly have in common with Eric? Aside from enough chemistry to light a rocket? Okay, I really needed to not have such vivid memories when it came to Eric. Smiling, I recalled the conversation we'd had at my house Tuesday night. "_Blonde hair, blue eyes, northwestern Louisiana, and the ever-erstwhile Bill Compton_" was how Eric, amused, had summed up our common interests. I giggled at the memory. I guess we did know how to make each other laugh. That was something, wasn't it?

I wondered when (if?) my life would go back to normal. I had about six romance novels due back at the Bon Temps Library. The librarian, Alcee Beck's wife, Barbara, was such a nice woman, I hated the sense of personal failure I felt whenever I was late returning my books. Barbara was never snippy about it but Bon Temps is a small town. It doesn't take much to get folks talking.

ooOOOoo

Glancing at my inadequate alarm clock/cell phone I was surprised to realize I had two voicemails. Both were from Pam. Hitting the voicemail key, I sat back to listen to the first message.

"Sookie, I needed to share with you a few things and I find writing notes tedious. The supe cleaners took care of your home. It is now devoid of all DNA. Clothes from your hamper were destroyed —"

_What? They destroyed my clothes? My mind flew back to my Bobby Burnham-inspired theory that the whole Area Five bomb plot was staged just so Eric and Pam could buy me a new wardrobe. _

"— while your clean clothes and other belongings were taken for safe-keeping."

_What they didn't destroy they took into protective custody? Huh?_

"Bubba guarded your home overnight while a Were will guard it during the day until my friend Amelia is able to cast protective wards. Amelia is to check in today. You are to accompany her to cast the wards. (_pause_) Speaking of witches, Marnie is no longer a threat. Her remains (_I swear I could hear Pam smiling_) were found in her home."

_Wow! I couldn't remember the last time I'd been so pleased to hear someone was dead! Did that make me a bad Christian? Think about it later! _

"Only Christian Baruch and security have been informed. We are keeping it quiet. The likely culprit, Irena, remains at large and as you might have guessed, she and Yvetta are one in the same."

_Shit! Was that the vibe I sensed coming from Eric? Did he suspect Yvetta was really Irena? Had I?_

"Eric is another one who needs to listen to me more. (_pause_) I have excellent people instincts."

**_Click._**

Suddenly Pam's message was cut off.

If Yvetta/Irena had been involved in the plot against Eric all along, then she couldn't really be jealous of me, could she? But why did she off Marnie if they were co-conspirators? Unless Marnie had actually found out that Yvetta/Irena was her rival for Eric? If Yvetta/Irena did have it out for me, her status had been upgraded from "dangerous witch" to "dangerous murderess". Dammit.

Remembering there was a second voicemail from Pam, I hit the voicemail key again. Pam's voice filled the room once more.

"I do not like this voicemail time limit on your phone. We must fix it. Having to call you twice is almost as tedious as writing notes. (_pause_) If Yvetta appears, Donati has orders to shoot first and ask questions later. This reminds me: I should like to learn how to shoot a firearm, Sookie."

_Geez Louise. That sounded like a hint for me to invite Pam out to a shooting range. She's got super human strength and fangs; some folks are just never satisfied._

"Anyway, return to my house at six and we will all dress for the gala together. Thalia is coming too and your dress and makeup will be delivered here. I think you will be pleased."

_Seriously? Girls' night with Pam and Thalia? I wondered if Chow was gonna be home too? Maybe he'd take out the digital camera and film us while we do each others' hair?_

"Last thing: Jake Purifoy owes money to several Las Vegas casinos. Yvetta was a showgirl in Las Vegas before relocating to Shreveport."

_Las Vegas! _

"As far as we can tell, no one from the Kingdom of Nevada has checked into the hotel. (_pause_) We replaced the explosive material in Marnie's hotel room with an identical-looking clear gel. We expect either Jake or Yvetta to sneak into the room sometime today and grab the (_pause_) _gel_ to place inside the centerpieces. We must not interfere. Our plan is still to pretend we have not uncovered the plot. Donati is aware.

"See you at six. Do not be late. Christian will understand your absence from the hotel today. I spoke with him last night. I told him you'd be needed off-site part of the afternoon to cover for Marnie. He's so delighted Marnie is dead, he will likely be singing show tunes for the next month."

**_Click._**

_That Pam._

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**AN: Geez. I hope that was helpful. VALady suggested a recap. ****I spent an entire day rereading the story to do the recap and o**nce I realized how complicated it is, I decided to do an entire Recap!Chapter. Oh, and I started another fic. Yeah. I'm one of _those_. *hangs head* THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE FOR THE REVIEWS AND PMs (LOL). I'm probably going to be lame with not responding until I feel more caught up. I'll continue to respond to PMs (with Midol?). The real *mystery* of this fic: WTF was I thinking? *head desk* #_NOTAGATHACHRISTIE!_

**_OCD Review Incentive: Dead Man ESN teaser (won't say which chapter but coming up soon) to folks who review my oneshots ("The Weight", "Be Your Own Viking," "Niall and Bill," "Tissues," "Derek Southman") with odd review numbers so that they're even. Seriously._**


	23. Christian, Quinn, and the Carmichaels

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious**

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When I arrived at the El Dorado, I was surprised to find an uncharacteristically cheerful Christian Baruch waiting for me. With Marnie out of the picture, Christian and I would again be spending the day dividing her workload. Since I had a "Get Out of Work Free" card from Pam, I'd be taking off early to accompany Amelia the Witch on her Protective Wards Tour of Greater Shreveport. This would leave Christian to deal with a lot on his own. You'd think he'd be annoyed, wouldn't you?

"Good morning, Michele." Christian greeted me with a sing-song voice, a big smile, and a playful wave. Hearing a strange sound, I paused to listen. I was astonished to realize my usually somber Swiss coworker was humming.

"Hi Christian." I nodded, a little subdued. I couldn't remember: was I supposed to know Marnie was dead? If I _was_ supposed to know, how was I supposed to react? Luckily Christian was giving me plenty of clues.

"Did you hear? The wicked witch of the west is gone. We didn't even need a tornado." Smiling, he continued humming. Was that 'Over the Rainbow'? I dipped into his brain. Pure bliss. I bit back a snicker. I sincerely hoped no one reacted like that when it was my turn to finally check in at that Front Desk in the Sky.

After a brief internal debate, I decided it was likely safe —as well as indisputably easiest — to just acknowledge I knew about Marnie. I was one hundred percent positive Christian was not involved in the bomb plot. I'd taken a lot of dips into his brain over the past few days and the idea of him being involved seemed impossible as I'd never caught him thinking of it, even as the date of gala drew nearer. As for how much I should reveal, I guessed it would be okay if Christian knew I was a little tighter with Eric and Pam than was first indicated.

Nodding solemnly, I said, "Pam Ravenscroft left me a message about Marnie." I made my way behind the front desk counter. "Ms. Ravenscroft has a friend coming in from New Orleans today and she wanted someone from the hotel to show her around. With Marnie…" Being dead? That was a little low-brow, I felt. "…not being here, she's asked me to step in and assist Ms. Broadway." I thought that sounded reasonable enough.

"Yes, yes," nodded Christian. "Isn't it wonderful? Pam told me I could have Marnie's job. I thought being turned was the only way I'd experience this level of joy, but I was wrong." He laughed; he sounded positively giddy. "I am so delighted!"

Eyes wide, I limited my response to a nod. I wasn't clear on whether Christian's happiness was more due to his promotion or to Marnie's death, but I kind of suspected it was both. Although probably more for the latter than the former.

"Of course, I would like you to stay on, Michele," he nodded at me and it was all I could do to keep my jaw off the floor. "I have been very pleased with your work here, especially considering the circumstances." Wow. Who knew? "Given the bomb incident, however, I don't feel there is currently a need for a full-time events coordinator." Christian looked at me, smiling. "I should like you to consider being the new concierge."

Shit.

My taking a job at the El Dorado was not supposed to be a real career move. Sam was expecting me back at Merlotte's once the investigation was over. _I_ was expecting me back at Merlotte's once the investigation was over. I couldn't deny that my time at the El Dorado hadn't been interesting. It was so different from Merlotte's, seeing new people each day, instead of the regulars day in and day out. The hotel was gorgeous, too. As long as the serial killers and terrorists could be reined in, it was a lovely place to work.

Dammit.

Fortunately, the concierge line rang then, and I was off the hook as far as having to give Christian an answer. I'd definitely have to think about it. As crazy as it seemed, a part of me was genuinely pleased about the offer. It was nice hearing Christian acknowledge I was good at my job –especially considering how critical Marnie had been. Of course, I had no idea what the real salary would be but I had to figure full-time staff probably received health benefits! Maybe even a 401K plan! The commute would be a pain, but if it was enough money, maybe Eric would let me rent 5 Cayuga Trail during the week. If I did take the job, would I have to keep going by the name Michele Landers? Maybe I could still work at Merlotte's on weekends?

I settled in behind the front desk and handled reservations while Christian took care of concierge duties. Whenever there was a lull at the desk, I'd make follow-up phone calls to ascertain the gala's final head count for security as well as for Ray and Julia at The Vintage. I had to abandon Christian a few times —he was happy as a clam, I might add, nothing seemed to upset the man's new-found peace—to check in with E(E)E, relaying messages and delivering packages.

One thing I needed to take care of was the floral centerpieces. Since Rafe Prudhomme was not around, I had to get in touch with his second-in-command, a very capable woman named Andrea at the flower shop. According to Andrea, the flowers were all ready to go but since Rafe was out sick, the shop was short-staffed. Once the flowers were delivered to the hotel, someone here would have to be responsible for placing them on the tables and pouring the water into the hurricanes for the floating candles. I figured I'd mention this to the E(E)E staff and see if anyone volunteered. I'd bet my paycheck that Jake Purifoy would volunteer in a New York minute.

Off and on, throughout the day, I found myself wondering about Marnie's murder. The vamps seemed certain that Yvetta was responsible. Since Pam hadn't given me any of the (presumably gruesome) details in her voicemail, I had no idea how Marnie died. If Yvetta did kill Marnie, why? Because of Eric? What did Marnie's death mean for our investigation? Would it lead Jake Purifoy or the Nevada vamps or whoever was behind the plot to think something was wrong? Or, for that matter, would Rafe Prudhomme's absence tip-off the vamps that something was amiss?

Or maybe Marnie's murder and Rafe's catatonic spell were both a part of the plan? Maybe Marnie and Rafe had been pawns all along and they were never supposed to make it out of this? Or maybe Marnie just pissed off Yvetta. Having worked with her for three days, I could easily see Marnie pissing off an ill-tempered colleague to the point of them deciding to send her to sleep with the fishes as my brother would say. Especially if it had been in a fit of anger. Especially if the murderer was a witch and they could rid themselves of their odious coworker without even messing up their manicure.

"Hey, babe. So they got you behind the front desk again?"

Shaken out of my reverie, I looked away from the screen to see John Quinn standing in front of me, a hesitant smile on his face and a coffee cup in each hand.

"Well, with Marnie being indisposed…and…ah everything, I'm filling in again." I gestured with my head toward the second cup of coffee. "Is one of those for me?" I could have really used more Java right then.

Quinn laughed. "You want it to be? I actually bought two for myself. One for now and one to nuke an hour from now. But I don't mind sharing. My coffee, that is."

Still smiling, Quinn handed me the coffee. My fingers grazed his as I took the cup from him. "Thank you, Quinn." Concentrating when our skin touched, I sensed him thinking appreciation. He was thinking how pretty I was.

Why didn't I capture more thoughts like John Quinn's? I wondered if he'd ask me to lunch again. Although, after the looks and comments he'd directed at me during Frannie's questioning the night before, I figured he'd given up on me.

"No problem. So, about Marnie...Do _they_ know where she is?"

I struggled to keep my face neutral. _They_. Who did he mean? Eric and Pam? Security? The police? "I don't know what _they_ know." Crazy Sookie smile in place? Check.

Quinn's smile disappeared as he continued to watch me. "You're more than what you seem."

"You are too," I replied tersely.

"All right. See there? I get that. It also proves my point. You're more in the know about things than a simple events liaison." His eyes were boring into mine. "And what was that last night with Frannie?"

Okay, the whole point of being in disguise was so I would _not_ be connected with Sookie Stackhouse, Area Five Telepath. For Quinn to cotton on to me would just _not_ be good.

"I'm good at reading people. Your sister doesn't have much of a poker face," I shrugged and turned my head to look at the screen. "I could tell she was hiding something."

"You knew immediately who she meant."

"Yeah, well. I had my own suspicions about that particular individual. When Frannie described her, I had a hunch of who it was." I paused. How much was okay to share with Quinn? He still could be involved. I brought my eyes back to his. "Have you met Yvetta? She's pretty distinctive. Hard to forget."

A moment of silence. "Yeah, actually," Quinn turned his face away; all of a sudden, he seemed uncomfortable. "I have met her. Knew her in Vegas. Didn't realize she'd moved here."

Shit. "Oh?" Appropriate follow up question? "Did you used to live in Vegas?"

"Still do. Part of the time. This job keeps me on the move a lot."

I nodded, silently taking that in. I sipped my coffee.

"So," Quinn brought his eyes back to mine, "are you Eric's?"

Somehow I managed to swallow the coffee in my mouth and not spray it all over. Averting my eyes, I devoted great care and deliberation to lowering my cup and dabbing my mouth with a napkin. All I could think was that Quinn was the Worst Subject Changer Ever. Not knowing what to say, I hesitated.

"What?" I finally asked.

"Are you Eric's? He seems possessive of you."

I let out a breath. Quinn had made an astute observation; Eric certainly was possessive of me.

"I think he feels responsible because he and Pam helped me get the job."

"Don't buy that for a minute, babe."

"Well, it's true." Minimally, at least. "I'm not dating him or anything." And I wasn't dating him. Did hot make-out sessions count as "anything"?

Quinn snickered. "_Dating Eric_? Any woman who gets caught up with a deader is a fangwich and nothing more."

I sucked in my breath and dropped my shields.

"Quinn, I didn't know you felt that way." I'd suspected it was so but my suspicions had been based only on the tidbits I'd pulled from his brain, not anything he'd every said.

"I don't know how anyone could feel any other way about it."

Prodding his thoughts, I sensed more of his intense dislike and mistrust of vampires. For the nth time, I wondered if he hated vamps enough to want to blow up a bunch. But I still couldn't see him endangering himself, his sister, his co-workers. It was one thing to hate vamps; it was something else altogether to set off a bomb in a casino —filled with humans, shifters, and Weres — just to kill a few.

"I don't really ascribe to that kind of blind—" What? "prejudice against people."

Quinn snorted; it wasn't a pleasant sound. "They're not people, Michele."

"Well, I dated a vamp for a while and we broke up like any other couple. It didn't have anything to do with him being a vampire." This was sort of true. While the fact that his maker ho could insist he return to her and Bill had no choice but to comply _had_ been a contributing factor, ultimately the final straw was that he cheated. A person doesn't need to be a vampire to be a cheater and an insensitive jerk.

"Well, consider yourself lucky. Most vamps would just as soon see you dead as lift a finger."

Quinn was obviously talking from his own past experience more than anything else. The Cheater had put himself at risk saving me from the Rattrays. Eric had gone well out of his way to ensure my safety in Mississippi. He put himself at risk in Russell Edgington's mansion helping me escape with The Cheater. Eric had been far out-numbered and had his role in the escape been discovered, it could've turned out badly for him in the end.

I never did know what had gone on between him and my fashion twin, Curly. _Maybe it_ _had_ _turned out badly_ _for him in the end_. Ew. Not relevant! I so did not want to think about _that_.

"Excuse me." So focused on Quinn and my inner musings, I was startled to suddenly hear voices. Glancing around, I saw it was actually only one person, a loud broadcaster. The man was coming at me in stereo as I was simultaneously hearing him speak while I was also picking up his thoughts. "Can I get a little customer service over here?"

_Pretty girl...they did a nice job on the renovations...should've invested in it...too bad they don't have servants quarters these days…Marley better appreciate his room..._

"Yes, sir," I said, my Crazy Sookie smile firmly plastered on my face.

_What the hell is wrong with her?...young people nowadays…probably on drugs…_

"Sir, I'll be right with you," I nodded, struggling to firm up my shield.

"You okay?" Quinn asked. I could hear the concern in his voice.

"Yeah," I nodded. "I'm fine. Just need to get back to work."

"Yeah, I can see that." Quinn threw the loud broadcaster a pointed look. "We're having a final sit-down at five. Shouldn't be more than a half hour. Just wanted to make sure you knew about it."

"Thanks, Quinn." Geez Louise, would I even have time to do my job, today? "I have some stuff going on off-site. Stuff I'm covering for Marnie. I'll do my best to make the meeting."

"You do what you gotta do." He nodded and was gone.

It occurred to me I should have thanked him again for the coffee. Shaking the conversation from my head, I turned my attention back to the two men standing on the other side of the counter.

_What kind of customer service is this? ...does she not know who I am?_

At that moment I realized I _did_ know who the man was. He never made it onto the pages of the Bon Temps "weekly" (really it was monthly, but no one seemed willing to acknowledge the painful truth), but I did see his photo often enough in the Shreveport Times; he was frequently mentioned in articles on new development or Louisiana politics.

"Are you checking in, Mr. Carmichael?" I asked.

Copley Carmichael, builder, developer, and real estate magnate, was the Donald Trump of Louisiana, although to be fair to the man, he had better hair than Trump. It was short, thick, and gray and it looked like a really good carpet, dense and smooth and expertly cut. Not terribly tall, Carmichael was very tan, and his eyebrows were still dark. He had very thin lips and you know what they say about a man with thin lips. No seriously, his thin-lipped smile reminded me of a shark.

I chanced a glance at Carmichael's travel companion, who I figured was Marley.

Marley was a very, very light-skinned African-American. He was far from black; his skin was more the color of old ivory. His eyes were bright hazel. Though his hair was black, it wasn't curly, it was clipped, and it had a red cast. I was envious of his reddish tint. Marley was a man you'd always look at twice.

Both men were impeccably dressed in finely tailored suits. That Marley was of a lower social standing was not apparent from the way he carried himself.

"Mr. Carmichael, I have you down for three of our very best rooms on the lower penthouse floor—"

"I'd requested penthouse."

"I'm sorry, the top penthouse suites are not available to the public."

"I knew I should've invested in this place," he mumbled.

I smiled. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Please just get us checked in."

"Certainly. One room for you, Mr. Carmichael. One for a Tyrese Marley—"

My eyes went questioningly to the African American man.

"Yes, that's me," he confirmed.

"Third room is for Amelia Broadway."

"Carmichael."

"Excuse me?"

"Her name. It's Amelia Carmichael."

I frowned. Did I make a mistake when I reserved the room? Didn't Pam say her name was Broadway? Or did I somehow fill it in on my own? I pulled up the guest list. There it was, clear as day: Broadway.

"I'm sorry, sir." I wasn't really. I decided I was going to treat Mr. Carmichael just as I treated Maxine Fortenberry when she ordered jalapeños and then complained that they were spicy. "Her name is as she gave it. If you're paying for all the rooms, honestly yours is the only name we really need because the rooms are going on your credit card."

"Well," he leaned in to look at my name badge, "_Michele_, if that's true I don't see why we're having this conversation. My daughter's name is Amelia Carmichael. She goes by her dead mother's name to distance herself from me. As she's here accompanying me, she's obviously not distancing herself right now and I hardly think it's appropriate. Everyone here—including yourself—knows who I am, and they'll know who she is since she's with me."

It was with some effort I kept my face expressionless.

Carmichael leveled a half-smile, half-glare at me. "So, let's stop wasting my time, okay?"

Well, I, for one, _completely understood_ his daughter's desire to distance herself from him! I found myself curious about Amelia Broadway.

My fingers flew across the keyboard. "Fine, Mr. Carmichael. I apologize for the mix-up."

_There they are...I hope he's not angry I registered under Broadway...front desk clerk is pretty...oh! That must be her! Sookie!_

OSM. Who was that? I glanced around looking for a familiar face. Suddenly there was a girl about my age standing in front of me, hugging Copley Carmichael.

Did she say my name aloud? I took a couple of deep breaths, redoubling my efforts to keep the thoughts of the Father/Daughter Loud Broadcaster Team at bay. I seemed to be unable to shut them out completely so I needed to just pay attention and know what they said aloud and what they didn't.

"Daddy!"

"How's my girl?"

"Good, good. Hey Marley."

"Miss Amelia."

Amelia frowned, not pleased by the younger man's deferential greeting. I plucked from her brain that Marley was Copley's bodyguard/chauffeur and was relatively new, having joined the staff only a few months earlier. She debated saying something and then decided against it. _Too much trouble with Ogre around._ I nearly snorted.

As for Amelia, she was pretty; I could definitely see why Pam liked her. Her chestnut hair was short and her eyes were a bright blue. She was wearing a smart and flattering coral suit with matching heels.

Done greeting her party, Amelia turned to me. She looked like she was going to say something, but then didn't.

_Sookie? You're just like Pam described you..._

Shit. Was Amelia going to keep thinking at me the whole time? Why on earth did Pam tell her I was a telepath?

"My name is Michele Landers." I felt like my face would crack, my smile was so wide. "I'm not usually the front desk clerk. One of my colleagues called in sick so we're all pitching in where needed."

_What the hell is with the looks these two are giving each other?... Is any girl not a Lesbian these days?...Why is Amelia a goddamn Lesbian anyway?... I liked my only child being a girl, I thought we'd never compete..._

_Sookie, I'm so happy to meet you...Pam said you need protective wards at your house while you're not there…Do you want a stasis spell, too?_

"Okay, here are your key cards," I shoved the envelopes at them. I gestured for a bellhop to come over with a dolly. "This gentleman will show you to your rooms."

"Thank you, S-" My eyes said 'No!' Miraculously, Amelia read my body language despite her incredibly loud mental chatter. "Michele." She nodded. "By the way, I'm interested in doing a little shopping while I'm here. Maybe, after I've unpacked, I'll come back down and you can tell me where the best shopping is?"

I let out a sigh of relief. "Yes, Ms. Carmichael," I nodded. "I have a tourist map with the malls and shopping centers all highlighted and I can definitely make recommendations."

_I know she's going to come down here and hit on the redhead…must be her mother's influence, probably told her all men are evil…_

_I wonder if we'll actually have time to shop..._

"That sounds terrific, Michele," Amelia smiled at me before turning to her father. "Dad, let's go up and get settled. We don't have much time before the gala. I need to buy something to wear tonight. I told you how Bob coughed up a hairball on my dress?"

"Yes, yes," Copley Carmichael replied, turning and moving away from the front desk without another word. "I still don't understand why you have a cat, Amelia. I thought you hated cats."

"Dad! That was years ago! Bob's great." Amelia shot me an over-the-shoulder glance—complete with wink— as she linked arms with her father and led him towards the elevators.

Marley tapped the desk and grinned at me. "Thank you."

I returned his smile. "You're very welcome."

Third time's the charm I thought as it dawned on me that Amelia was the third witch I had met that week and the only one I'd liked.

* * *

**AN: LOL. Oh, Amelia! You Loud Broadcaster, you! My Ch 23 Fave: Copley Carmichael. I suspected Cope would be more fun if he wasn't on good behavior. **** Bill? Bill? Still wondering about whether or not Bill adds or detracts from the gala. Well, of course his emo-sorry ass will detract. But it might be fun, too. Feel free to weigh in. Thanks. **

**The Snarky Sidekick Contest is going on NOW! Let out your inner Pam. I speak from experience when I say it is highly satisfying. All those things you'd never say in a million years? Just let it out through Pam. Ah.**


	24. HoleintheRoadHoleintheHeart

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious ****—**

* * *

An hour and a half later, I found myself in my— no make that _Michele's_ car—with Amelia Broadway in the passenger seat. Amelia had come down to the front desk a short while earlier. Thankfully, only my ears were registering what she said this time around.

"Michele?"

"Yes?" I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile.

"So shopping?"

"Yes." I nodded.

"Some store in...uh...I believe Hole-in-the-Road?"

"It's called Bon Temps."

"Really?" she squealed. "Oh my God! I actually know someone else from that Podunk port of call!"

I kept a smile on my face but inwardly I frowned. Amelia seemed nice but she was definitely a city girl, through and through. A lot of city folk seemed to have little use for small towns. After alerting Christian that I would finally be leaving to run errands with Amelia at Pam's request, Amelia and I left.

We hit congestion on the interstate just outside Shreveport. Since we had a little time to kill, I figured it might be a good opportunity to try to get to know Amelia a little bit. After all, I was trusting my personal safety in her witchcraft ability.

"So, Amelia?"

"Yep?"

"Pam told you what I can do, huh?"

"Yeah! I'm sure I would've picked up on your otherness even if she hadn't. I'm good like that. But Pam said it was a good way to communicate with you."

_What_? Amelia was brain-shouting at me because _Pam_ told her it was a good idea? I should've known. That Pam.

"Well, actually, Amelia, it's really not." I cut a quick glance at her. "Unless I'm trying to read somebody, I keep a clamp on it."

"Oh!" If I had any doubts about Amelia, they were dispelled by the remorse in her voice. "And there I was, just yapping up a storm at you!"

"Yeah," I nodded.

"I'm so sorry, Sookie." She sounded genuinely contrite.

"It's fine." I shrugged. "As long as you get it now."

"I wonder why Pam told me to think at you?"

Was she serious? How well did she know Pam?

"Uh, how do you know Pam, anyway?"

"Oh," Amelia replied, "we see each on and off. You know. When we're in the same place. Which isn't very often." Well, I guess that explained it then.

"So Pam said you need protective wards at your house in Hole-in-the-Road and also at a storage shed in the middle of the woods." Well, even if she did have the born city dweller's contempt for small towns, at least Amelia a good subject changer.

"Yeah," I confirmed. "That's right."

"Protection from whom?"

"Good question but we don't know the answer."

"What type of supe then?"

Another good question. "Um, well, I know there's at least one witch who may have a problem with me. A fairy came to my house a few nights ago." I paused, remembering Mark Stonebrook. "Weres, too."

Amelia turned to look at me, her eyes wide as saucers. "Boy, Pam wasn't kidding! You _are_ a trouble magnet!"

What? "Pam told you I was a trouble magnet?"

Amelia's short brown hair bounced as her head bobbed up and down furiously. "Oh, yeah! She's pretty adamant about it, too!"

Well, I was feeling pretty adamant about something, too. Pam was due for an earful later.

"I am _not_ a trouble magnet." I fell silent, thinking. What did that mean anyway? "But, if I am a little more prone to problems than I used to be, it's probably 'cos of the company I keep, which includes too many vampires."

Amelia laughed. "Pam said you'd say something like that."

I figured it was time to change the subject again.

"So," I started, "how long have you been a witch?"

"Oh, I've been working with my advisor, Octavia Fant, for three years. It's kind of like being an apprentice to an artisan. I have to keep practicing my craft under her guidance until she thinks I can handle things on my own."

"Wow, that's fascinating. Does it pay?"

"Yeah, I make a living," she said, aiming for a modest tone and just missing. Even without my delving into her head, it was obvious that Amelia had worked hard to become a witch and was proud of her power.

"You perform serious magic," I asked, and she nodded happily. "For who?" I asked. "Since the regular world doesn't admit it's possible."

"The supes pay real well," she replied. "Vamps and Weres, especially. I mean, they don't like witches, but vamps especially want every little advantage they can get. The rest aren't as organized." With a wave of her hand she dismissed the weaker ones of the supernatural world, the werebats and the shape-shifters and so on.

"Do you know any fairies?" I asked curiously.

"Yeah," Amelia nodded.

It occurred to me that Amelia might be able to provide me with a Fairy 101.

"Do you know anything about them?"

Amelia frowned. I read her thoughts before I heard her words.

"They're pretty mysterious and keep to themselves. I know there's different kinds of Fae. Full fairies. Elves. Demons. They seem to have enough of their own magic," she said, shrugging. "They don't need me." So Amelia doesn't really need them... "So I don't market to them. Although once in a while, one will come into the shop."

"What do they look like?"

"Which ones?"

"Fairies."

"They look like humans, only there's an otherworldliness about them."

Oh. That sounded decidedly anti-climatic. Like humans, only different.

"Really? That's it?"

"Hmmm, I'm probably not doing them justice. They're beautiful. Usually quite tall. They don't age. And they have pointy ears."

"Pointy ears..." I repeated, wondering if I'd perhaps encountered a fairy and just not noticed their ears. I wracked my brain: Could a tall, odd looking person perhaps wearing a skullcap over their ears have stopped by Merlotte's at some point and I had missed it?

"You're wondering about who the fairy was at your house?"

"Yeah, I just..." I frowned. "I'm trying to think if maybe I met one but didn't know it. Is that possible?"

"Maybe," Amelia replied. "Can you always tell when someone's a supe?"

"Yeah. Brainwaves are different." Different. Who had I seen recently who was different? My memory doubled back to the woman my friend Tara had had lunch with on Wednesday. The strikingly tall and beautiful supernatural creature. I could tell from her brain pattern that she wasn't human but I didn't know what else she could've been.

Maybe she was a fairy?

Maybe she was _the_ fairy?

Why though? Why would a fairy seek _me_ out? This train of thought wasn't getting me anywhere but frustrated. I figured we were due for another subject change.

"I had you registered as Amelia Broadway," I glance over at my new friend, "but your dad kind of threw a fit. I changed your reservation to Carmichael. I'm sorry."

"My dad's got good qualities," Amelia shrugged. "Unfortunately, he usually packs his bad ones for business trips. You know. When he's gonna be seen somewhere, making an impression on others of his ilk."

"What does he think of your being a witch?" I asked.

"He doesn't believe it for a minute," Amelia said, sounding frustrated and a bit forlorn. "He thinks I'm a deluded little wannabe, that I'm hanging with weird little people and doing weird little jobs to stick my tongue out at him. He wouldn't believe in vampires if he hadn't seen them over and over."

"Oh, I'm sorry. That must be tough."

"Well, honestly, he's got a point about part of it. One of my jobs at the store is reading fortunes," she admitted. "And sometimes I do a magic tour of New Orleans for the tourists. That can be fun, and if I scare 'em enough, I get big tips. But it's not exactly stuff that's gonna make Copley Carmichael proud."

"Oh, yeah." Geez, after meeting Amelia's father, it was a wonder that she was so 'normal', notwithstanding, of course, the part about her being a witch. "I can imagine."

"Yeah, well." Amelia glanced out the window. "I've been thinking it might be nice to get out of New Orleans for a bit. Just to get some distance between us. If Octavia can be convinced that I'm ready, who knows? Maybe I'll move up to Shreveport. I do like it up here. New Orleans gets so overrun with tourists. Besides, there's a lot of practitioners down there. Up here, I can't imagine there are too many witches. Might make good business sense."

I was starting to see the apple that fell off the Carmichael tree.

Soon after that I turned off Hummingbird Lane and onto my property. Pulling up in front of the house, I saw a lightly battered older model Dodge Ram parked out in front.

Sitting on the steps of my front porch was a man I knew by sight but couldn't recall ever having been formally introduced. A boulder of a man, who, I suspected, in a pinch, could crack pecans on his biceps. He owned a small engine repair shop just outside of Hotshot but I remembered hearing that he'd been a New Orleans police officer for a couple of years. About eight years my senior, he'd married young. I knew he had a thirteen year old son who lived with his mother in Clarice.

I knew him because he came into Merlotte's on occasion but he wasn't a regular by any stretch of the imagination.

"Hi! I don't know that we've ever been properly introduced. I'm Sookie Stackhouse." Putting the Passat into park behind the truck, I called out my greeting from the window.

"Tray Dawson." Tray stood and in two bounds, was next to the car. I noticed the holstered pistol he wore on his hip. Tray already looked tougher than any guy I'd ever met; it seemed overkill (har-de-har) for him to be carrying a gun on top of his lethal biceps. "You're Jason's sister?"

"Yeah, that I am." Amelia and I jumped out of the car. As Amelia made her way around from the passenger side, I could tell she was taking in Tray's form as well as his accessories. The bodyguard was wearing a denim shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket. His black leather boots were battle scarred. His deep brown eyes seemed a little battle-scarred as well. He had dark brown hair beginning to show just a little gray, and a neatly trimmed mustache.

"I like the red." It took me a second to catch on to what he was talking about.

"Oh, thanks." Self-consciously, a hand went up to my hair. I had foregone the glasses after we'd left the hotel. "This is my friend Amelia Broadway." Still suffering flashbacks from my Copley Carmichael lecture, I'm ashamed to admit I hesitated for a fraction of a second before saying her last name.

"Hi Tray," said Amelia.

"Ma'am," he nodded.

"Please call me Amelia. Big gun." Amelia blurted out, prompting a chuckle from Tray and a darted glance from me. "Your gun, I mean."

"Kimber 1911 Compact," Tray replied. "It does the job."

"Things been quiet, Tray?" I asked as I glanced around the front yard. Indeed, the house always looked safe in daylight.

"Yeah, Sookie."

"Did Eric and Pam really think a gun was necessary?" With everything I'd witnessed and experienced, it probably made little sense that I was surprised to see Tray carrying a gun to guard my house, but there it was.

"Actually, it was Alcide Herveaux who suggested it. He's had some run-ins with witches." _In addition to that bitch girlfriend of his._

"Oh!" I hadn't expected that response or the little peek into Tray's thoughts. The fact that he felt that way about Alcide's girlfriend, Debbie Pelt, just raised him higher in my estimation. "You know Alcide?"

"Yeah," he grinned. "Small world, when it comes down to it."

"Guess so."

"So how do you two know each other?" Tray gestured between Amelia and I. We exchanged a look. I said, "Mutual friends."

I internally cringed knowing Amelia's next words before they made their way out of her mouth.

"We're not together, or anything." Amelia smiled, gesturing between the two of us.

My eyes shot around to her. Amelia's eyes were glued to Tray the Were; she genuinely seemed interested. Shaking my head, I marveled. Amelia might just be the female Jason Stackhouse. How everyone I knew seemed to have time not just for dating but for dating multiple partners, sexes, species, while I was constantly busy just keeping myself alive...I must not be living right.

"Oh," a slow smile spread across Tray's face. "Well, that's good to know." Tray seemed to be interested.

Wondering how I'd inadvertantly facilitated a love match over the need for my house to be protected from malevalent supes, it occurred to me that Pam might not be as thrilled with Amelia and Tray hitting it off. Time to change the subject again...

"Hey, Tray, I know somebody must be paying you for your time—"

"Personal check from Eric Northman."

"Oh, okay." I'd have to repay Eric at some point. "But I would like to thank you personally. Maybe you can come by for dinner when the gala is over."

"Oh, yeah, Sook! Great idea!" Amelia turned to face Tray. "You can bring your wife."

Tray snickered. I nearly did too. Amelia wasn't exactly subtle.

"No can do." He shook his head. "There hasn't been a Mrs. Dawson in a few years."

"Girlfriend then."

"Nope. Not right at the present."

Amelia got a very self-satisfied grin on her face. I couldn't help but think she resembled a Chesire cat.

"Well, in that case, if you're not doing anything tonight, maybe you'd be interested in escorting me to the gala at the El Dorado? I live in New Orleans so I'm only in town for the weekend. I hardly know a soul here."

Tray's face took on a serious look. "Ah, possibly gonna be some trouble there tonight..."

"Really?" Amelia squeaked. Didn't Pam tell her about it? I dipped in her head._ That's why I need a big strong man there to protect me_ she was thinking. She knew.

"Maybe you can help keep an eye on things," she winked at him.

"Maybe I can."

Great. We've got bombers looking to blow the hotel to kingdom come and everyone around me seems to think the gala is the best thing for dating since since the classified personals. Crazy Sookie smile in place I turned around to look at Tray.

"Tray, you're more than welcome to attend tonight." I thought about how to say what I wanted to say. "But you know there's a reason we're on high security. We're not sure what to expect at the gala."

"Maybe that's all the more reason to stack the deck."

Maybe he had a point.

"Are you gonna bring your gun, Tray?" asked Amelia. I had to admit I was impressed by the flirting mileage she was getting out of Tray's pistol.

"Wouldn't dream of leavin' my special lady home on a night when she might really enjoy herself."

Amelia smiled. "It's settled then."

"I guess so." I needed to regain control on the situation. "So, Amelia, you ready to just do this?"

"You bet, Sookie." Amelia glanced over at Tray. "I'm warding the house from malevolent doers."

"Yeah, you're putting me out of business."

"Guess I am. Here at least."

Oh, my God. It was like I was watching my friend Tara back in high school.

An hour later, Amelia and I were in the car taking the scenic way back to Shreveport. We still had to find the storage shed in the woods. I was nervous I'd bottom out the Passat once we were on the unpaved roads. I knew it wasn't really my car, but it was such a nice ride; I didn't want to return it to Eric damaged.

"Sookie, do you know where we're going?"

"Yeah." Turning to glance at Amelia, I pointed at the GPS system. "I don't know when but Pam managed to sneak in the car and program the coordinates into the car's GPS. "

"Ooh, she's good like that."

"Yeah," I agreed. "So I guess you and Pam aren't exclusive or anything like that?"

Amelia burst out laughing.

"Nope." She shook her head. "We just have fun when we can. I think Pam and I are more buddies than honeys."

"Oh, I see."

"What about you?"

I gulped. What exactly was she asking me? "Me and Pam? Ah, I haven't got anything going on with Pam."

"Okay, maybe not Pam. You sweet on somebody?"

Was I sweet on somebody? The only 'somebody' around at the moment was the one and only Eric Northman. The idea of being sweet on Eric was absurd. I might as well be sweet on a mountain or a glacier. Or a giant Sequoia.

Sweet on Eric. Ridiculous.

"Oh, oh, oh!" Amelia was looking at me wide-eyed. "You have somebody! I can tell!"

I felt my cheeks redden. "No," I shook my head. "Not really."

"Not really, huh? You're totally blushing! So tell me about your honey."

I tightened my lips. Amelia just kept watching me, a big smile on her face.

"Is he your boyfriend?"

"No," I shook my head. As much as I liked Amelia, she seemed to say whatever was on her mind. I was afraid if I actually confided in her, she'd go and blab whatever I said to Pam. Maybe I could change the subject? "Actually, I've only ever had one boyfriend. He was a vampire."

"Really? Your only boyfriend was a vamp?"'

"Yeah," I nodded. "With the telepathy, it makes being around human guys hard."

Amelia stared at me. She wasn't getting it.

"You know." I tried to give her a meaningful look. "The _intimacy_..."

"Oh! You mean it's tough having sex when you know what your partner's thinking?"

"Yeah, " I said. "Exactly. With Bill—"

"Your vampire beau's name was Bill?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Bill Compton."

"No way!"

Startled, I let out a nervous titter. I looked over at Amelia, who I saw was regarding me with a wide-eyed stare. "Why? Do you know him?"

"Well, I can't say I really _know_ him. I told you how I knew someone else from Hole-in-the-Road?"

I nodded silently.

"My tenant, Hadley Delahoussaye, is from Bon Temps."

I sucked in my breath. Hadley. Hadley's alive and living in New Orleans. My cousin Hadley who'd run off years ago with the money Gran had given her to go to rehab to get herself cleaned up. I don't think Amelia registered how heavy the anvil she'd just dropped on my head was; oblivious, she just kept talking.

"...so, that's when I met Bill Compton for the first time. After that, he was over a few more times."

I just missed everything Amelia said. Dammit.

"I'm sorry Amelia." That was true, at least; I _was_ sorry. "I had to pay attention to the GPS directions." I glanced at her. "I missed what you said. Could you please repeat?"

"Oh, sure," Amelia nodded. "Hadley Delahoussaye, the Queen's girlfriend, lives in my upstairs apartment. Bill Compton was a friend of hers from the Queen's court. He came by a few times a while back but I haven't seen him in a few months. It sounds like he moved up here since you're dating him."

"Was dating him. Past tense."

"Oh," Amelia nodded. "Gotcha. So do you know Hadley?"

"She's my cousin."

"_SHE'S YOUR COUSIN_?"

Ouch. That was so loud. My nerves were so jangled, I was hearing everything in stereo. Head, then mouth.

"You don't look a thing like Hadley," she said this lower. I could feel her eyes on me. "And you're so nice!"

"Hadley Delahoussaye is my cousin," I repeated. My heart was pounding a mile a minute. Suddenly, it was getting difficult to breathe. Labored, it sounded more like I was gasping than breathing.

"Wow, so what did you think when she became a vampire?"

I shot my head around to look at Amelia. Seeing spots before my eyes, I was afraid I was going to faint. After a few seconds, I managed to pull the car over to the shoulder. Leaning my head forward onto the steering wheel, I shut my eyes and told myself to breathe. I felt something dripping onto my lap and realized I was silently crying.

"Oh, Sookie! I'm sorry. You didn't know she's a vampire, did you?"

Wordlessly, I shook my head. No dummy, Amelia was starting to cotton on to why I suddenly was so quiet. "Wait a minute. Did Bill know Hadley was your cousin?"

"Ah, I'm sure I told him about Hadley."

"But he knew _her_ before he knew _you_. He never mentioned to _you_ that he knew your cousin?"

Again I just shook my head.

"Is there any way this maybe could be a coincidence?" God bless her, Amelia, though I'd only known her a few hours, was really trying her best by me.

"I don't see how." My voice sounded strained. Still with my head on the steering wheel, I opened my eyes to stare at Amelia. "I'm not even sure I see how you come into this."

Amelia's brow furrowed; I could tell I'd offended her with my suspicion. "My dad owns a lot of real estate in New Orleans. He signed over a small building to me. It's gated with security cameras and it's within walking distance from the Queen's palace." She continued, her tone more mild. "A lot of the real estate dealings involve the supes in New Orleans. My dad was interested in investing in the El Dorado two years ago when the syndicate was formed to buy it. He decided against it but I went to a couple of meetings and that's when I first met Pam." She fell uncharacteristically silent. "Nothing mysterious about it."

I choked down a sob. I didn't know anything after all. I'm not even sure what my suspicions were. Was I afraid Bill had returned to Bon Temps specifically to search me out? Romance me? Why? Only to put me through hell and dump me for Lorena?

Was his name really Bill Compton? Was he really a descendant of the Bon Temps Comptons?

Oh my God. Was it just a coincidence that old man Jessie Compton died when he did?

But Eric and Pam knew Bill.

With an ironic acknowledgment of just how much things had changed over the past couple of months, I realized Eric and Pam were, for better or worse, my most trusted confidants. At least where Bill and other supes were concerned.

There was still two hours left before sunset. After assuring Amelia I was fine to drive, I pulled back out onto the road and we continued to the woods for the second half of the Protective Wards Tour of Greater Shreveport.

* * *

**AN: See Bill meet Amelia. See Amelia throw Bill under the bus. See Sookie get hurt. See Eric...?**

**LOLs, yeah, we're shipping Amelia and Tray! ROTSS readers know the deal: I'm not happy until every possible ship has been made. And we are *not* letting Amelia go back to NOLA. We like her too much and Sook needs a better friend than Tara. What about Bob, though? Cat or geeky hairstylist?**


	25. The Truth About Bob and Bill

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious**

* * *

By the time we got back to the El Dorado, the final coordination meeting was already in progress. As Amelia and I stood in the lobby, I could tell she was torn between feeling concerned for me—about my Bill revelation; excitement over her "date" with Tray; and anxiety at spending the weekend with her father. Amazingly, I couldn't detect anything to indicate she was at all frightened about what the gala might bring, despite her insider's awareness of the lingering threats.

"You going to be all right?" Amelia looked up, her blue eyes on mine. She was adding her cell phone number to my phone. "Call me if you need to talk."

"Yeah," I nodded, forcing a smile. "I'll be fine. Thank you." I let out a breath. "We were already broken up, anyway."

She nodded, but I could still see worry reflecting in her eyes.

Wanting to change the subject, I thought I'd ask about her dress dilemma. I didn't have anything but I thought Pam might have something for her to wear.

"Do you still need something to wear to the gala?" She shot me a puzzled look. "Your cat? The hairball?"

Amelia emitted a delighted peel of laughter. "Sookie, I'm gonna let you in on a secret. Bob is actually a friend of mine." A tinge rose on her cheeks indicating Bob was likely more than just a friend. "My dad stopped by my place unexpectedly one morning and Bob freaked 'cos he's afraid of big bad Copley Carmichael. So Bob wouldn't have to face my dad, I changed him into a cat." Although she shrugged as if such a feat was a commonplace occurrence, Amelia's eyes belied her pride. "The end result is my dad thinks I have a cat—which comes in handy when I want to shop for new clothes or I need to explain why I'm not wearing any of the ugly stuff he buys for me."

"Oh!" You could've knocked me over with a feather. Or a cat toy. Or maybe a clove of catnip. "Is Bob okay? You changed him back?"

"Oh, yeah," Amelia nodded. "Of course. It's just…things haven't been the same since. I mean…" she grimaced. "Even before I did the transformation spell, the whole being scared of my dad thing? I mean—what a _pussy_, you know?"

Knowing fully well she meant Bob's pre-transformation state, I drew my lips into a tight line and nodded a silent assent. Staring blankly ahead of her, it was obvious from Amelia's smile when she refocused her eyes on mine that more pleasant thoughts were now occupying her mind.

"Tray, now," she said with a grin. "I can't see him being afraid of Cope. I can't see him being afraid of _anything_. Can you?"

I had to agree with her on that. It took a lot to instill fear in Weres and shifters.

"What is he, anyway?"

"A Were."

Amelia's smile got wider at that and I instructed myself not to think too much on it.

"Well, I'd better check in," I told her. "I'll see you and Tray at the gala."

After a final hug goodbye, Amelia and I went our separate ways.

A few minutes later, I saw that Carol, one of the room attendants, was filling in at the front desk. I figured that meant Christian was sitting in at the coordination meeting. If Christian was already attending the meeting, did that mean I still had to go? If it felt like your heart was splitting in two, was that a good enough reason to miss a meeting? Or did that kind of behavior gain me membership into the Simpering Miss Club? I knew Adele Stackhouse had not raised me to be a simpering miss.

While the afternoon spent watching my new friend Amelia cast protective wards had been an excellent diversion, I now found myself left to my own devices. With no more distractions, it was just me and my newfound knowledge about Bill.

I tried to convince myself that I'd already cast Bill Compton out of my life. Whatever suspicions I had about him now—wondering if he had some kind of perverse hidden agenda for seeking me out —didn't matter.

I already despised him for his betrayal. I was already sorry I'd lost my virginity to someone who in the end had proven themselves so unworthy of my love. I'd sunk to so many new lows on account of him. I'd even killed for him.

If I found out that he had _never_ loved me, and all I had _ever_ been to him was a task assigned by the Queen of Louisiana, did this ultimately change anything?

I kept trying to tell myself _No_. I kept trying to tell myself it was in the past. I didn't need to think about it. I didn't have to let it hurt me. I didn't have to let Bill Compton hurt me. Again.

But somehow I wasn't doing a very good job convincing myself.

I've always been good at throwing myself into whatever task I had before me. It seemed like I was forever putting off thinking about things until a better time presented itself. As for considering this particular revelation, I couldn't imagine a worse time for it to come to light.

Given what the night still held for me—the gala, bomb plots, witches, Weres, fairies, and keeping people I cared about safe—I really didn't have time to devote to thinking about Bill Compton.

I might fall apart if I dwelled on it too long.

I seriously did not have time to fall apart.

Besides, if Oprah, Jerry Springer and Ellen were to be believed, America was a revolving door of really messed up people coming out of horribly twisted relationships. As far as I could tell, those people all continued to work. We didn't have to shut down the economy because everyone was just too emotionally distraught over bad break-ups to go to work. Sure, maybe those workers, once at work, made poor decisions that resulted in the tanking of the economy or the toxic contamination of the Gulf of Mexico, but at least they continued to work. It was the American way. Right?

Not sure if my little self-pep talk left me feeling any better, I decided to just attend the meeting. Since I was there, and I was still collecting a paycheck, I made my way to the casino. I reasoned with myself that I'd just feel better knowing the status of everything as the gala was only a few hours away. Just confirming who was still around—Jake, Quinn, Frannie—would be a worthwhile exercise.

As I pushed open the door to the casino, everyone glanced up at the sound. Conducting a visual survey around the table, I was relieved to see everyone was there. Well, everyone but Indira and Connie the Corpse since it was still too early for vamps. Quinn halted mid-sentence to give me a nod of acknowledgment, while Christian, smiling, raised his hand and waved. The 180 degree change in my previously stiff-lipped Swiss colleague continued to amuse me.

Scanning the room as I made my way to the center table, I saw that protective covers and tablecloths were being placed on the game tables so that the tabletops wouldn't sustain any damage. (Of course, if a vampire battle was going to happen later, all bets were off on the effectiveness of the tablecloths.) Someone had seen to the floral centerpieces, including the "water" filled hurricanes complete with the floating candles. The candles, of course, had not yet been lit.

Several long buffet tables had been placed lining the interior space in front of the east wall and west wall slot machines. A temporary stage had been placed at the front of the room, slightly out from the casino's north wall.

The crystal chandeliers were on and the room was aglow in light. I knew from previous meetings that later that night, both the chandeliers and the higher built-in ceiling lights would be dimmed. Special stage lighting had been set up by the stage.

Upon my arrival at the meeting table, Julia, the owner of The Vintage, smiled at me and gestured invitingly to an empty seat. Sending a silent smile of thanks to the older woman, I settled myself onto the seat beside her and attempted to pay attention to the discussion already in progress.

"So, the final head count is in?" Quinn was apparently posing this question to me but at my startled look, he redirected it to Christian.

"Yes, yes," Christian nodded. "I have the updated list." Christian began to distribute copies of the guest list.

Looking at it, I eyeballed the 'Type' column where a 'H' or 'V' indicated if a guest was human (or mostly human, in the case of shifters and Weres) or vampire. Eric and Pam, of course, were on the list as were a number of other Area Five vamps. It seemed the list of Area Five vamps attending was different from the original list and I figured it was due to the fact that somebody had to stay home and watch the fort. Or watch the witch. Clancy was no longer on the list. Indira, I knew, was overseeing the blood supply for the gala. Thalia, Maxwell, and Chow were the other Area Five vamps on the list.

The Louisiana vampires included the Vampire Queen of Louisiana, Sophie-Anne LeClerq. In addition to Sophie-Anne there were three other vamps coming in from New Orleans: Andre Paul, Sigebert, and Wybert.

The Arkansas vamps included Jennifer Catar, Peter Threadgill, Jade Flower, and Henrik Feith. Their total number was six, not four. Someone—it must have been Christian or Carol since I knew it hadn't been me—had jotted '+2' in the margin. Curious, I raised my hand.

"Yes, Michele?" Christian nodded for me to speak.

"What's the '+2' mean on the Arkansas party?"

"Apparently there was a miscommunication. The total contingent from Arkansas is six but we do not have names on the additional two."

No names? That sounded like a red flag to me. How would they not know who was coming? Unless they decided at the last minute to bring reinforcement for some reason? Needed bodyguards? Definitely food for thought…

That reminded me that Eric said he would ask the Queen of Louisiana about Jennifer Catar's interest in Area Five. I wondered if he'd ever gotten around to doing that.

Russell Edgington, the King of Mississippi, was not attending. Having seen Russell in action, I couldn't help but be amused. Being the vampire Hugh Hefner certainly had its perks. The man's day-to-day life in his Jackson compound was probably so much fun, it took something really important to drag him away. At least there was one group of vamps I wouldn't have to spend the night dodging and praying they didn't recognize me.

The Texas vampires, on the other hand, _were_ attending. Stan Davis, Joseph Velasquez, and a vampire I didn't know named "Rachel" were listed as coming. Forcing back a snort, I realized Eric would be forced to acknowledge his 'Leif' alter ego after all…

Franklin Mott, who I had met in Mississippi, was also attending. OSM. Next to his name was Tara Thornton's. Her name hadn't been on the list because she was Franklin's '+ 1.' It hadn't even occurred to me that my friend Tara might attend this event. Shit. Someone else I'd need to keep my eye on.

Glancing up, I realized Todd Donati was speaking.

"So we're keeping our eyes open for the two disgruntled former staffers and we have special instructions on how to deal with them."

Oops. Totally missed what he said. Dipping into his head, I saw that he was referring to Marnie (who he knew was dead but we were still pretending wasn't) and Irena/Yvetta (who he knew had never actually been an employee of the El Dorado but had been a dancer at Fangtasia). I also saw that the "special instructions" were to use force and let the vamps deal with any police investigation. I also saw that Donati, while disturbed about his evolving role as head of security, understood that, with supes, the rules were different.

Ain't that the truth.

The remaining ten minutes were spent reviewing the gala timeline. The program was scheduled to start at nine, while doors would open for the cocktail hour at eight. According to Ray, the servers from The Vintage would start setting up the food on the buffet tables at seven-thirty. The casino bartenders would be tending the bars starting at seven forty-five. E(E)E would finish setting up the room, including the tables, lighting, and stage equipment, by six-thirty. Jake would light the candles on the tables right before nine o'clock. I cut my eyes to Jake. The Were seemed completely at ease with his role of lighting the candles.

Eric and I had never come to a satisfactory conclusion on exactly _how_ the explosives were to be detonated. Since Jake seemed so calm with the idea of lighting the candles, I could only surmise that lighting the candles had never been the trigger. (Since we'd swapped out the explosive material for some benign gelatinous goo, we were confident that, regardless of the trigger, there wouldn't be any explosions.)

Looking at the centerpiece on the table before me, I extended my arm out and casually lifted the glass hurricane. Lifting it to my nose, I pretended to sniff the candle, while I slipped my fingers to the underside of the glass. Feeling around, I detected a small, square raised pattern stuck to the bottom of the glass. It was a tiny computerized RFID chip. Tada! Our detonation trigger.

"What are you doing?" All of a sudden, Jake Purifoy's voice, cold and angry, rang out above the others.

"Just sniffing the candle. I wondered if they were scented." I replaced the hurricane back to its spot in the centerpiece.

"No, no," Jake snarled, giving me a suspicious look. "They're not scented. If you wanted scented, you should have said something to Rafe weeks ago." Apparently, his reaction was so unlike him, several of his colleagues took notice.

"You okay, Jake?" asked Quinn.

Realizing how out-of-character he sounded, Jake let out a loud sigh.

"Yeah, yeah." He brought his eyes to Quinn's before turning to give me an apologetic look. "Tired. Job's been a long one. Anxious to get home."

Without another word, the subject was dropped and we resumed the meeting.

Frannie handed out copies of the evening's program booklet. Opening the booklet, I was certain my eyes showed the surprise I felt as I saw the evening's agenda included a speech from everyone's favorite vampire sheriff/bar owner. I fought back a snicker.

**_Greetings: John Quinn_**

**_Introduction of Keynote Speaker – His Honor Garrick D. Clover, the Mayor of Shreveport_**

**_Keynote Speaker - Aileen Arsley, Director of Film Shreveport-Bossier City_**

**_Welcoming Remarks Grand Opening of El Dorado Casino – Eric Northman, El Dorado LLC_**

**_Ribbon Cutting Ceremony - Sophie-Ann LeClerq, El Dorado LLC_**

**_Dinner, Open Bar, Dancing_**

Of course, I knew Eric, as a businessman, had to do stuff like this, but it hadn't occurred to me that he'd be giving a speech as part of the evening program. For some reason, I found the idea funny. Envisioning him giving the speech was only made funnier by envisioning him giving it while wearing a pink tank top and pink and aqua swirled Lycra leggings. Don't ask me why my brain picked that moment to recall that outfit, but it did. Maybe hysteria was looming. I swallowed a snort of laughter and focused my eyes on the program.

Although the casino lacked windows, I knew immediately when the sun went down. My phone buzzed. I noticed Quinn cast his eyes over to me in a pointed stare. Ignoring him, I flipped my cell open and saw I had a text from Pam.

_Did all go well with Amelia and the wards?_

Before I had a chance to reply, a second buzz announced the arrival of a new message. This one came from Eric.

_Are you okay?_

Staring at the message, all my intentions of remaining strong in the face of what was—most assuredly the cruelest kind of betrayal a girl could be confronted with—came close to shattering. With considerable effort I was able to compose myself.

Not wanting to be the one person at the meeting not paying attention, I texted first Pam and then Eric each a succinct "_Yes_."

I desperately wanted to ask them what they knew about Bill knowing Hadley but I knew it wasn't the kind of thing you text. Without warning, an idea took shape in my mind that left me with a chill running from my head to my toes.

How did I know Eric and Pam didn't also know about Hadley? They knew the Queen. Why wouldn't they know her girlfriend, Hadley? Maybe Hadley had blabbed that I was a telepath to all the supes in Louisiana? Maybe there was a supe chess match going on and I was the pawn everyone wanted but only for my _ability_, _not_ because any of them truly wanted _me_.

Another buzz. Through teary eyes, I read the message.

_Bullshit. Stay there. I am on my way._

* * *

**AN: Like how I dealt with Bob? I do. This is the last EFC. Whatever chapters remain (6? 7?), Eric is in all of them. **

**Please review. Reviews are my catnip and my inspiration. Without them, I tend to lie lazily on the windowsill, limiting my activities to rolling over and licking myself periodically :D**


	26. More than you can possibly imagine and

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious**

* * *

Ten minutes later, the meeting was coming to an end. Everyone — with the exception of the E(E)E crew who still had work to do in the casino —began to slowly make their way towards the doors.

Feeling slightly dazed, I stood. I folded the gala guest list and tucked it and my cell phone away in my bag. As I went to pass Quinn, I was surprised by the feeling of a warm hand on my arm. Pausing, I turned to meet his gaze.

"Yeah?"

"You okay?"

What's the appropriate response to that?

Yeah, I'm fine. I just found out my ex-boyfriend—first lover, too, by the way— never really loved me. It seems that he had been assigned to seduce me by the Vampire Queen of Louisiana. Ha! Even if Quinn _had_ been a confidant of mine, knowing his disdainful attitude towards vampires, I would never open myself up to his potential litany of judgmental '_I told you so's_.'

Even if I was basking in the painful afterglow of my own litany of '_I told you so's_,' I still had some pride. Not the kind with tigers.

Pulling myself together, I gave him what I hoped was a normal (relatively speaking) smile.

"Yeah, Quinn," I nodded. "I'm fine. It's just been a crazy day."

Quinn's gaze traveled past me, landing someplace far behind me.

"Yeah," he let out a breath. "It's about to get crazier," he mumbled. I saw him jerk his head towards the casino door. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Eric standing there holding the door open; he was obviously waiting for me. Watching him, I saw his lips curl into a lazy grin when he knew I'd spotted him.

Feeling something catch in my throat, all of a sudden it hit me: I _desperately_ needed to get away from the hotel. With this single thought in mind, I started to walk towards Eric. After a few seconds, it was a struggle to keep myself from running.

"_Michele_!"

In the distance, I heard Quinn calling somebody named Michele. Ignoring him, I kept up my pace.

"_Michele_!" Quinn called out again.

Finally remembering, I stopped dead in my tracks. Mere steps from where Eric stood at the door, I turned around to trek back to where I'd left Quinn. I was more than a little surprised to realize the E(E)E head man stood only a few feet behind me. I realized he must've followed me from the table without my being aware.

I chalked it up to Quinn's inherent catlike stealth.

And to my utter desire to get the hell out of there.

"You left your coat at the table." Quinn's eyes searched my face; he seemed a little concerned.

"Oh," I replied, my voice little more than a whisper. "Thank you." Holding out my hand, I watched my fingers take hold of the lovely navy pea coat as though they were on somebody else's hand.

"No problem, babe."

Eric was beside us then. I felt his hand latch onto the underside of my elbow as he took my coat. Apparently, he saved it from a trip to the floor as I was unwittingly holding it so loosely that it was _thisclose_ to falling.

My eyes wandered from Eric's hand, which held my arm with its usual vicelike quality, over his t-shirt and leather clad chest to his face. Scanning Eric's usually inscrutable face, I was startled to see worry etched in his features. I saw something else there, too. Something indefinable and unnamed. I wondered why he was there. Of course, I knew. I wanted to ask him if he'd woken up with his alarm set to the Sookie Channel but the words died in my throat.

"I'll take it from here, tiger."

Despite the use of the derogatory nickname, it was probably the only time I'd ever heard Eric speak to Quinn in a tone actually devoid of antagonism. It wasn't lost on Quinn, as he seemed to reply in an equally measured tone.

"Not sure what happened." He pointed to me with his chin. "She got here for the meeting. Something obviously happened."

"Yes." I heard Eric reply and my eyes left Quinn's face and switched over to Eric. Usually I hated it when people talked about me as though I wasn't there, but, right then, _it felt like I wasn't there_. I shut my eyes and directed my attention to regulating my breaths. I refused to break down in front of a bunch of strangers.

"Let's go." Eric led me out of the casino and through the hotel lobby, guiding me by the arm as though I were blind. "I'm delivering you to Pam so you may have your girls' night." Mindlessly, I listened to Eric's small talk. "It ought to be interesting. Pam is having her hairstylist in to do your hair and makeup. She has a crush on the man's sister. Chow is to film it. Thalia doesn't like the dress Pam selected for her. She told Pam to shove it."

Despite my dark mood, I couldn't help but snort at Eric's behind-the-scenes commentary on Vamp Prom Night.

"You like that, do you? Well, you won't like this. Pam seems to think she is having a threesome with your brother and his girlfriend after the gala."

My eyes shot open and I looked at Eric in horror.

"No..."

"No." Shaking his head, he chuckled. But his eyes belied his tension. "She did joke about it though."

I realized we were finally by the hotel's front entrance.

"The car is in this lot?"

"Yeah." I pointed through the glass doors to the west side of the parking lot.

"The key?"

My eyes went to my bag, which, miraculously, was still hanging over my shoulder. Without another word, Eric stuck a hand into the bag and, rummaging through it, quickly came up with the car key. The key hung on a 'Michele' name keychain.

"Come." Eric ushered me through the hotel's revolving door. Although my directions on where the car was parked were less than helpful, Eric, with his above-average height as well as his better-than-human eyesight, was quickly able to discern the Indigo blue sedan in the sea of parked cars. A minute later he unlocked the car's doors and gently pushed me into the front passenger seat before shutting my door and making his way around to the driver side.

Since I had nothing else to do once I'd clicked my seatbelt and tucked my eyeglasses away, I turned to watch Eric. Peeved by the car's limited cabin space, I heard him mutter under his breath as his knee slammed into the steering column.

"Where are the controls for the seat?"

"It's manual," I told him. I watched, amused, as his eyes widened with a mix of dismay and frustration. "There's a lever underneath to move the seat back. Pull it forward and then push the seat back."

This task accomplished and the seat moved back as far as it would go, Eric was still not satisfied. Finding the dial that controlled the seatback, he rotated the dial until that seatback was almost in a total recline position. After devoting a few more minutes to adjusting his seat height (I thought he'd made it as low-riding as the Corvette), Eric finally slid the key into the ignition and started the engine.

"I guess it would be tough for us to share a car," I mumbled.

"Would you like to share a car with me, my Sookie?" Eric gave me a sideways glance.

There was a long silence. "I don't know why I said that." Sniffling, I finally broke down and started to cry. The levee topped, the Great Mississippi was bearing down. They were horrible, silent gut-wrenching tears that racked my body; they quickly had me doubled over in pain and barely able to breathe.

Out of the El Dorado's parking lot by then, we were making our way down a side street. Realizing he had Weeping Willa on his hands, Eric pulled the car into a convenience store parking lot and shut the engine.

"Sookie..." Eric, clearly uncomfortable with the state I was in, peered at me with worried eyes. "Please stop crying." Eric had never been good at dealing with a woman's tears. Grabbing my bag from the floor in front of me, he rifled through it. Finding a package of Kleenex, he brought a tissue up to my face.

"Sookie, you know this is not where my talents lie." As if to prove his point, Eric patted the still-folded tissue down on my face in the same way I'd blot the excess oil off a slice of pizza. As touched as I was amused, I couldn't help but laugh at his awkward ministrations. Eric frowned at my reaction. "I don't know that it merits that level of ridicule."

Oh my God, despite how awful I felt, I laughed harder. Doubling over again, only now I was laughing.

Just as suddenly the laughter was gone and I was once more overcome with tears.

Demonstrating that the mastery of his manual dexterity was not limited to the lightning fast removal of women's undergarments, Eric, leaning over the center console, somehow unstrapped my seatbelt despite the fact that I'd rolled myself up into a protective ball. Without missing a beat, he then gathered me into his arms and, as best he could considering the various impediments presented by the car's bucket seats and center console, picked me up.

Intending on lowering me slowly onto his lap, I think he got more than he bargained for when I shifted mid-air and wound up landing squarely on his lap.

"Ahhh!"

I guess even vampires hurt _there_ when something hits it the wrong way.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Eric!"

"Not your fault, my Sookie."

His lips drawn tightly, it looked as though he were willing the pain away. Blinking, he refocused his sapphire eyes on me and smiled.

"Although, I do think..." Eric started to speak. The seriousness of his tone put me on alert; I pulled my head back so I could better see his face. "I do think, since we're discussing it, our shared car ought to have a bench seat." He raised an eyebrow at me suggestively and, startled, I burst out laughing again.

"There," he said, smiling at me. "I much prefer the sound of your laughter to that of your tears."

Leaning forward, Eric kissed one cheek and proceeded to methodically lick it clean of tears. I sat still, transfixed, as he then practiced identical ablutions on the other cheek.

"Now, will you please tell me what's wrong?"

I let out a loud sigh. Truth time.

"Do you know Hadley Delahoussaye?"

"Hadley Delahoussaye...? It's not familiar." I studied Eric's face as though I hoped I could find the meaning of life somehow imprinted on his thousand-year old flesh.

"You told me you had a cousin Hadley. The one who used to frequent the El Dorado before the syndicate took over. I don't believe I have ever met your cousin but Pam is better with such details. I could call her and ask. Why is this a matter of significance?"

Realizing I had again been holding my breath, I let out a loud half sigh-half gasp.

Eric's face as he watched me was a complicated mix of concern, fear, and bewilderment. I knew, of course, he had a thousand years to perfect looking innocent when caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and maybe I was crazy, but I didn't believe he was lying. Maybe I just couldn't bear to think that he'd lie to me. Not about this. Not him.

"You're telling me the truth?"

Eric leveled a sardonic—yet still absolutely gorgeous—smile at me. "It is with no small measure of surprise, I can honestly say I haven't lied to you." He himself sounded a bit incredulous at his admission.

Could he be telling the truth?

Although I tried not to dwell on it, Eric had threatened me a couple of times when we were still in the getting-to-know-you stage. At the time, I hadn't doubted for a second that he meant what he'd said. To my recollection, he'd never minced words or lied to me to make me feel better, worry less, or not be afraid of him. His acting like that had done nothing for my nerves at the time, but now I could almost view it as a mixed blessing. If he hadn't lied to me back then—when arguably he _should_ have—why would he lie now? Especially if Pam was right and he felt something for me now. If Pam was right, Eric had more vested now; it was more important that he be honest with me.

If I were prepared to believe him, then I'd have to accept whatever he said about Hadley.

"Pam's friend Amelia—" I started to explain.

"The witch?"

"Yeah, " I nodded, "the witch. She says my cousin Hadley is her tenant. In the French Quarter."

Processing the information, Eric's expression grew pensive. "This is good news, then? Your kinswoman who you feared dead from her bad decisions still lives?"

Shaking my head, I brought my right hand up to my forehead and massaged my temple with my fingers. I had one helluva headache.

"That's just it, Eric. She _is_ dead." I let out an unamused snort. "According to Amelia, Hadley's a vampire."

I watched as Eric, staring at me, quirked an eyebrow.

"Your cousin is a vampire in New Orleans..."

"There's more."

"What?"

"The Queen's her lover."

Well, if I had lingering doubts that Eric might've known more about Hadley than he was letting on, they were obliterated by the look of shock on his face. His face still, his eyes bored into mine.

"Your cousin, then, is a vampire in the Queen's court."

"Yep."

Eric continued to stare at me, although I didn't think he was seeing me then.

"Do you know how long she's been there?"

"Amelia said she's been in the apartment since last spring. She was already a vamp when she moved in."

"Of course," Eric seemed to finally be emerging from his shock-induced stupor. "_You_," he paused, fixing his eyes on my face, "_do_ realize what this means?"

"Of course I do." My voice caught. I started to cry again.

"Sookie." I felt Eric's arms tighten around me. "It's not worth your tears, my lover. It—_he_—is not worth your pain."

Another wave of gut wrenching tears hit me. I held onto Eric as though my life depended upon it; my arms locked around him in a deathgrip. My face was buried into the safe juncture where his neck and shoulder joined; I could feel a cascade of tears roll down my cheeks.

We sat like that for a while.

Exhausted and spent, finally I stopped crying; I had no more tears left to shed. Taking a few deep breaths in the post-chaos calm, I became aware of three things. First, Eric still held me firmly in his arms. Second, his hands were rhythmically caressing my back with soothing strokes. Third, I had no desire to move.

But that didn't erase what I now knew—without a doubt—to be the truth.

Bill Compton had never loved me. I couldn't even see his cheating as a betrayal anymore. If all I ever was to him was a job, then what reasonable claim did I have to his heart? Apparently I had no more claim to it than his database. In actuality, he probably _preferred_ the database.

My relationship with Bill had cost me. It had cost me dearly. Never mind my personal heartache, the loss of my virginity, or the loss of my innocence.

My relationship with Bill had cost me Gran.

"Feel better?" I felt Eric press his lips against my temple.

"Are you kidding?"

"It'll fade."

"When?"

"Eventually."

I was going to say I didn't think I'd live long enough for it to stop hurting but stopped myself. Not a good thing to say to Eric.

"What do I do?"

"You go on, Sookie. What is there to do about it? What's past is past."

That was Eric; forever (har-de-har) the pragmatist. I smiled into his shoulder. I actually did draw some comfort from his words. The pain was unbearable. I'd cried an ocean. My head hurt. My face hurt. But I was still here. I could still enjoy the company of another. I could still enjoy the feeling of someone holding me. Uh-oh. I realized I'd messed up yet another article of Eric's clothing.

"_Oh no_..." I sucked in my breath.

Alarmed, Eric tilted his head away so he could see my face. "What?"

"I cried all over your leather jacket."

Eric seemed relieved. "Is that all? Now that you work for me, maybe I can deduct my dry-cleaning bills as a business expense." He smiled at me, teasing. "I'll ask Bruce."

"Hey," I play-slapped him on the shoulder. "I haven't messed up that much of your stuff."

"You, my Sookie," Eric peered at me from under half-lowed lids, "have messed me up more than you can possibly imagine and still not nearly enough."

I felt my breathing hitch. We'd definitely crossed over into uncharted territory. I could feel my heart racing. Going by the look in his eyes, Eric could too.

"Eric..." I leaned in and laid my lips on his. I couldn't remember but it might've been the first time I'd initiated a kiss between us. As I brought my hands up to either side of his face, I felt his hands move from my lower back to my shoulder blades. I felt his tongue probe my mouth looking for entry. Returning the favor, my tongue explored his mouth. As I ran my tongue over his fangs, I could tell Eric enjoyed it as he shuddered at the touch. Finally he pulled away from the kiss so he could trace his lips along my neck, to my collarbone, to my barely exposed breast.

"Sookie..."

Feeling a slight prickling sensation on the top of my breast, I realized Eric was nuzzling me. I felt a tingle of warmth shoot down to my core. Eric's lips still buried in my breasts, I sighed and gave in to the feelings of pleasure and comfort. What I was feeling right then felt so much better than anything else I'd felt all day. Shifting my position on Eric's lap, I leaned back against his broad chest, resting my head on his shoulder.

Eric was momentarily disturbed. "You've taken away the girls."

"Sorry," I giggled, glancing sideways at him. "I felt like sitting this way with you. It's kinda like snuggling."

"Hmm. Will I get to play with them later?"

I had no idea what was going on between us. How should I answer that question? I tried to figure out how Gran's advice could be made to apply. "If you're nice to them, chances are they'll be nice to you."

"Sookie..." Eric laid a featherlight kiss on my cheek that I felt in the tips of my toes. We fell into a comfortable silence. It was heavenly until reality intruded. There were still _so many_ questions.

"What does it mean?" I knew I didn't have to elaborate.

"I'm not sure."

"It can't be good, can it?"

"No, I'd say not."

"What should I do?"

"I'm working on it."

As it dawned on me how long I'd been sitting on him—uncomfortable as he'd already been in the car that was at least two sizes too small for him, I immediately felt guilty.

"I'm squishing you."

"Squish away."

"I should get off."

There was a pause and, realizing what I'd just said, I braced myself for the sexual innuendo I was sure was on its way. Instead Eric's arms around me tightened. He laid another chaste kiss on my cheek.

"No you shouldn't. I told you you could hold onto me as long as you wanted and I meant it."

"You said that when I was in pain and I needed to hold onto something or scream."

"Your point?"

"Thank you." I sounded more like myself.

Eric turned his head and I felt his lips brush along my cheek.

"Anytime, my Sookie. Anytime."

* * *

**AN: Wow, you guys blew me away on reviews for Chapter 25. Seriously, thank you! I've been spotty on responding lately. Sorry about that. I just felt like writing and figured everyone would prefer quicker updates to silly PMs from me anyway. I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. Obviously comforting Sookie won out over beating up Bill. Yes, the driver seat adjustments are manual in Passats. And you thought I was hooking her up with the Tiger.**


	27. The Real Vamps of Shreveport

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious **

* * *

A short while later I found myself sitting on one of the couches at Chow and Pam's "nest." As out of sorts as I was, apparently I wasn't alone.

Pam had had a mini-meltdown when Eric and I arrived at the house nearly an hour late. Visibly annoyed by our tardiness, she'd sarcastically commented to Eric that she'd aged "a hundred years" waiting for us to get there. One hard look from Eric shut her up immediately; in fact, she quieted down so quickly and so completely I'd actually wondered if Eric had put the maker 'whammy' on her.

Transferring his gaze, Eric stared at me for a brief moment. Finally, with a stiff nod and a curt, "I'll be back in an hour" he was gone.

My knee-jerk reaction to his abrupt departure was to wonder if the past hour had actually happened or if I'd imagined it. Slightly dazed, I sat alone, with my thoughts, to contemplate the meaning behind Eric's aloof goodbye.

It wasn't going very well.

Tears at the ready, I ran my palms along the tops of my thighs so I'd have something to focus on. I speculated on how Pam and Chow would respond to Weeping Willa. I didn't need a Magic 8 Ball to know the outlook wasn't good. All of a sudden my cell phone buzzed.

_Let it go. See you soon._

Instinctively, I let out a breath. To my chagrin, I realized I felt better. Relaxed. A six-word text from Eric was apparently all it took. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I wasn't sure how I was _supposed_ to feel about that. Should I be happy? Relieved? Worried?

Entrusting my heart to the care of others hadn't worked out for me. It seemed counter-intuitive to hand over other emotions as well.

I was also still left wondering just why he'd been so cold to me when he dropped me off. I supposed it was possible that it had nothing to do with me. He was the dread master vampire, after all. Maybe he didn't feel comfortable exhibiting public displays of affection in front of other vampires. That was a normal way for guys to act, wasn't it? To not show affection in front of their friends? It was probably even more so if the guy was a vampire and then amped up more on top of _that,_ if he was a vampire Sheriff. I hoped that was all it was.

But could it be something else? As other possible scenarios flooded my mind, I berated myself for posing rhetorical questions that I obviously didn't want answers to.

I supposed Eric might've decided it was in his best interests to comfort me so I'd be calm enough to get through the night. I'd be useless at the gala if I was Pitiful Pearl holed up in the ladies room crying, incapable of focusing on anything other than her own anguish.

Following this miserable train of thought, I then started to muse on just how I _would_ get through the night. The gala was scheduled to go from eight until one. That was the plan anyway. Who knew how long the night would go if there was some kind of vamp melee? Damn. Since Marnie was dead, was I responsible for keeping tabs on everyone's hours? Would I have to keep track of bloodbath overtime? I was glad E(E)E's agreement was contractual, not hourly. That at least made one thing a little easier.

Raising my fingers to my temple, I realized my head was pounding. I asked my imaginary Magic 8 Ball what the odds were that Pam and Chow had Tylenol in the medicine cabinet; it returned a "Very Doubtful."

The sound of the doorbell ringing jarred me from my thoughts. Glancing up, I saw Thalia storm angrily into the living room. She ran a cool appraising eye over me and then proceeded to ignore me.

I decided I was okay with that.

Thalia was very old—possibly even older than Eric. She had long black ringlets down her back and a profile that could best be described as classical. She had a heavy accent—Greek, I thought—and a hasty temper, which she didn't hesitate to unleash upon Fangtasia patrons when they irked her. To my amazement, some humans found that a complete turn-on. Thalia actually had a devoted following who seemed thrilled when she used her stilted English to tell them to fuck off. She even had a website, established and maintained by fans. Go figure.

"What is with this dress?" she asked, glaring at Pam.

"What nothing, Thalia," replied Pam. "That's what you're wearing tonight."

"I look like a washerwoman," Thalia complained bitterly. I bit back a snort. Laughing at Thalia would so _not_ be good.

Pam let out a sigh of exasperation. "Yes, well, you need to wear something that will hide your sword."

"Why can't I just carry it?" Thalia asked.

"It's a gala opening at a hotel. The press will be there taking photographs—"

Thalia erupted like a Greek volcano. "It's not enough Chow is filming this like a tourist, I'm going to be in the newspapers wearing this burlap?"

"Why am I being brought into this?" asked Chow, lowering his camera.

Hold on! I couldn't believe what I was seeing; _this_ is what went on with the vamps behind closed doors? Too bad I didn't have any popcorn. Chow had the right idea; I wished I'd thought to bring my camera.

Maybe Chow would let me borrow his?

"Thalia, it's a lovely dress." Pam turned her face and I caught her mid eyeroll. "If you don't like it, you can move back to Illinois."

"No! I don't like it there! Their politics is corrupt!"

"What do you care?"

"Aristotle was my lover," replied Thalia. "You think me a supporter of despots?"

Pam frowned. "You're not that old."

"What do you know, anyway? You don't even _know_ how old you are!"

Pam, her face frozen, just stared at Thalia. "I'm not listening to this anymore. Thalia, you're carrying that sword. You're wearing that dress. Eric's orders. He'll be here to get Sookie at quarter to eight. If you have any problems, you can speak to him then."

Pam's mention of me seemed to remind the vamps that I was in the room. Although Chow knew full well I was there as he kept panning with the digital camera and I kept feeling obliged to wave.

"Why is the telepath here?" asked Thalia. "Is she here for _happy hour_?"

Uh-oh. Thalia gave me a fangy smile. It was my turn to keep my face still. It was pretty obvious what would make Thalia happy for the next hour; she was hoping for a Sookie Cocktail.

Chow lowered the camera and looked at me a little uncertainly. Crap. He'd like a Sookie Cocktail, too. Pam slanted her eyes as she surveyed the other two vamps; finally, she let out a sound of aggravation.

"Please tell me I misheard," said Pam, sounding coldly furious.

"I'm just saying I'm hungry," spouted Thalia defensively.

"You know she's Eric's." My eyes widened. _I was?_ That was news to me. I figured Pam just said that so they'd lose the hungry look; I'd know if I were Eric's, wouldn't I? "I can't believe you said that. On film too. I don't even need to report it to the Sheriff," Pam continued, shaking her head. "No wonder Illinois didn't want you."

Just then the doorbell rang again and Pam went to go answer it. Thalia floated over to sit on the recliner. Kicking back, she grabbed a remote control from the side table and turned on the big screen television.

Left alone with Thalia and Chow, I plastered on a modified version of my Crazy Sookie smile. Feeling marginally more comfortable with Chow since our witchcraft 101 earlier in the week, I thought now was as good a time as any to ask about fairies. But first there was something else I had to ask.

"So, why're you filming anyway?"

"New camera," he shrugged.

Alrighty then. Next topic.

"I'd like to thank you again for teaching me about witches. It was really helpful," I nodded and Chow looked at me, his dark hair pulled back in a short, tight ponytail. "Anyway, I was wondering if you could tell me anything about fairies?"

"_Fairies_?" It was Thalia who responded, jumping up from her seat. "_Fairies are_—!" She darted over and spat on the floor to express her opinion of fairies.

As if on cue, Pam returned to the family room with a young man in tow. A human, he was young, maybe twenty-one, and looked nearly emaciated. His hair was blue and cut in an extremely geometric way, rather as if he'd put a box on his head, knocked it sideways, and then trimmed around the edges. The hair that didn't fit in the box had been shaved. It was an interesting look.

Pam, of course, had witnessed Thalia spitting on the floor; irritated, Pam made a face. "Thalia, tell me I didn't just see you spit on my floor?"

"Oh, you can buy a new floor!" Thalia waved her hand in disgust and returned to her recliner, muttering something about the bourgeoisie under her breath.

"Sookie," Pam smiled at me, obviously deciding to ignore Thalia for the moment. "This is Immanuel Earnest. He cuts hair at Death by Fashion in Shreveport. I am a friend of his sister, Miriam."

"Oh," I nodded. "How-de-do." I held out my hand and Immanuel stared at it like it was a snake. I wondered if Pam had gotten it wrong and he was a vampire after all; certainly his reaction to the concept of the handshake was reminiscent of a vampire's.

Pam thumped him on the back of his head. "Speak when you're spoken to, Immanuel!" she growled. Pam gave the hair stylist a slight nudge forward so he didn't see when she winked at me from behind him.

"Hello, ma'am," he said to me, finally reaching out to shake my hand. He gave me an awkward smile.

Running on a three second delay, it occurred to me that Pam had introduced me as Sookie, not Michele. I shrugged it off; Immanuel must be trusted otherwise he wouldn't be in the house.

"So make-up for a blonde and wig styling?" His eyes were traveling over me with the exacting deliberation of a judge at a dog show.

I decided to return the favor. Aside from his extreme haircut, I saw Immanuel was covered with very sophisticated tattoos. He'd look dressed even when he was naked. He carried a large black leather case tucked under one of his skinny arms.

"Yes," Pam responded. "That's right."

"What color is her dress?"

"Red."

"Her eyes are puffy. Has she been crying?"

"I don't know about today. She does have a tendency to leak."

"I may have to use a heavier foundation. I'm not sure I have it with me. I didn't know I'd need it from your description. You said she was pretty."

Maybe I was being a little paranoid, but I thought his words held a slightly accusatory tone.

Pam looked at Immanuel; her response was quite serious. "Well, regardless, you can do _something_ to make her presentable, can you not?"

They went on, talking about all the work that needed to be done to get me looking "presentable." Hearing them talk about me like that was really starting to piss me off; finally I just lost it.

"Firstly, I _am_ presentable! Second, I do _not_ have a 'tendency to leak.' I'm human. _Human_! I just cry tears once in a while! _Not a big deal_! Third, I found out something upsetting today. I do not have a '_tendency to leak_'!"

Okay, my list might've been a little repetitive, but I was trying to make a point not write a dissertation. In any case, with my carelessly tossed out words, I'd inadvertently sucked some of the air out of the room. In the silence that followed, I realized Pam was staring at me.

"Did Eric say something to you?" asked Pam.

Eric? What would Eric have said to me? Unless it was something about _that_.

"No," I replied, my eyes fixed on Pam's. "What would Eric have said to me?"

Pam glanced away and gave her head a slight shake. "Nothing."

Oh, no! _It_ was not _nothing_. As I stood staring at Pam, trying to think of ways to trick her into spilling the Big Bad Beans, I suddenly became aware of Immanuel lifting up strands of my hair to examine my roots. Beyond shocked, I couldn't form words at first; I could only stare at him.

"Did you dye it yourself?" he asked me.

"No," I sassed back. "Pam did." I jerked my chin to her.

"Ah." He glanced at Pam. "I'll leave the drinking blood to you if you leave the dying hair to me," he clicked at her.

Pam frowned at Immanuel while I found myself smiling. Immanuel and I, I thought, would get along fabulously. I already liked him heaps more than I did Bobby, who I liked not one damn iota.

Resigning myself to the fact that now was not the time to grill Pam about _it_, my brain went back to something that had been said earlier. "And what's this about me being a blonde?"

"You are to wear your blonde wig tonight," Pam said.

"I am?"

"Yes, you are attending the gala as yourself. You are to be Eric's plus one."

"I'm…_what_?"

"Eric's plus one. His escort. His companion."

"What? Since when?"

On top of my headache, my head was now spinning. I'd just spent an hour with him; why hadn't Eric said _something about this_? Was this a date? Was it work? Why was my dating life so complicated? Why did it seem like the only thing straightforward about my life was that there seemed to be no shortage of people trying to beat me up?

I had to start living right. I glared at Pam. This was _her_ fault.

"What does it matter 'since when'?" she scoffed. "Since now. You heard Immanuel. We don't have much time and we must make you presentable."

"Well, I'm sorry, Pam!" I spun out sarcastically. "I didn't know! I would've certainly held back the tears had I realized how inconvenient it was gonna be for y'all!"

Pam shrugged as though she had reconciled herself that it was her unhappy fate to suffer the whimsy of my human foibles. Pam's martyr attitude only served to rile my temper even more.

"What if I don't want to attend as Eric's plus one, anyway?" I spit out. "Huh? What if Michele wants to go to this thing by herself? I'm gonna have to work; why would I want to stand next to Eric?"

Eric who was probably going to be dressed in a tuxedo or a designer suit and was probably going to look yummy enough to eat. Not in the vampire way. Control, Sookie. Control.

"Sookie, must you be so difficult all the time? Eric is your boss. If you have a problem with your job, you must tell him."

"Pam, my problem is this: when I'm working at the El Dorado, I'm Michele Landers. When I'm Sookie, I'm not working."

"Who told you this?"

"Nobody told me this. I figured it out myself."

"Yes, well, stop figuring things out yourself. You are working for Eric and he wants you as yourself this evening. So you must wear your wig."

She leaned over and lifted the wig box from where it had been left on the couch and thrust it into my hands.

"I can't believe you two. It's like I'm your effing life-sized Barbie doll."

"Yes." She nodded vigorously.

"_Yes_? That's all you've got to _say_? You're just gonna _agree_ with _me_?"

"Sookie, have you noticed you argue when people disagree with you and you argue when people agree with you? I am starting to think you are just an argumentative person."

"_What_? I am _not_!"

Pam shrugged. "See? You're doing it again."

Pam could be so infuriating. She certainly was Eric's child.

Suddenly there was a cry from the other end of the family room.

"Forget it, Telepath! You cannot win with her! Bourgeoisie!" Pam, Immanuel, and I all turned to look at Thalia. She had turned off the television and was just lying back in the recliner watching us. Chow stood next her; he, I realized belatedly, had kept the camera focused on us the entire time. _Well, hell!_

Rolling my eyes, I turned back to Pam. "What about all the people who are gonna be there who know me as Michele Landers?" I pointed out. "They'll be introduced to Sookie but they'll know me already as Michele."

"Like who?"

"Quinn." Pam frowned as I went on. "Christian Baruch. Everyone else at E(E)E, including Jake."

"Well," Pam said, "it cannot be helped. Tonight's the night we need to flush out the perpetrators."

"And what's that got to do with me attending the gala as Sookie?" Not to mention me attending the gala as 'Eric's plus one'?

"Eric calls you a trouble magnet. He says we must bring you. You are a talisman."

"_What? _What is it with you two? I am_ not _a trouble magnet! And Amelia told me what you said about me, Pam. I resent that! And how dare you tell her to brain-shout at me!" That wasn't the most relevant thing to bring up but heck, I was on a roll.

"Sookie, do you deny that trouble follows you around?"

"Yes! I do! The only thing I've got following me around is vampires!"

Pam lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow to indicate her disbelief. Right.

"And a fairy."

She did it again, with a slight nod. Mark Stonebrook.

"And a Were."

She just kept staring at me.

"And possibly one or two more witches."

Dammit. I grabbed the wig box from Pam and went to sit back down on the couch. Immanuel had been lining up cosmetics on one of the end tables. He turned to give me a reassuring smile.

Thalia turned back to watch television; Chow, meanwhile, followed my every move with the camera.

I was _so_ ready for this investigation to be over.

* * *

**AN: Hmm. Again, I apologize for Chow's camera addiction. Re: Thalia. I'm not saying I did this on purpose, but does Thalia remind anyone else of Dave Chappelle's take on Rick James? See first 3 mins of skit linked on my FF profile. As for this crew, props to AlexJade. She hit it on the head with "Real Vamps of Shreveport." LMAO. These vamps are just too much. Poor Sookie. They drink blood AND bicker like Brooklyn Italians. **

**For Chapter 26, props to U2. "Walk On," title track from "All That You Can't Leave Behind," provided the inspiration.**


	28. Business or Pleasure?

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious**

* * *

A short while later, I was primped and preened and ready for action. Of course, the kind of action I was likely to encounter would ruin my hair and make-up, not to mention destroy my dress, but that was besides the point, right? I'd also been manhandled, vamphandled, and insulted along the way to 'presentability', but again, not the point.

The dress Pam had selected for me was red, gorgeous, and did an excellent job of showing off my best attributes. It even had a lovely matching shawl. (Despite the January temperatures, Pam scoffed at my suggestion that I wear a coat, arguing I'd be in the car and Eric would keep me warm; regardless of whether or not Eric put the heat on, I figured I'd find myself shivering.)

As for my ensemble, it seemed so _haute couture_, I didn't want to dwell on how much it must have cost, nor did I want to think about the cost of my entire _Telepath Barbie_ wardrobe. (Even though it occurred to me that the clothes would come in handy if I accepted Christian's job offer, I knew I couldn't just keep them. I hoped I could convince Eric and Pam to let me pay them back on a monthly schedule.) Pam attempted to allay my concerns about the cost of the dress by referring to it as my "uniform." Of course her calling it that only reinforced the notion that my being Eric's_ 'plus one'_ was part of my work assignment and not a date.

As ridiculous as it was_, that_ was an idea I found troubling.

I recognized the likelihood that I'd emerge unscathed from the gala was low. It was a foregone conclusion that my lovely dress would be ruined. I held little hope that my night would include dancing. I assumed I wouldn't have an opportunity to sample the hors doeuvres. When all was said and done, the night probably had the least auspicious makings for a date _ever_.

In spite of all that, I couldn't deny that a part of me wanted it to be a date. Not just any date. A date with Eric.

Every now and then, my mind would doubleback to what I'd dubbed '_the New Orleans Connection_'. I knew I should be processing it but I just couldn't. I felt like I'd shed a lifetime of tears in under an hour — much to Pam and Immanuel's dismay. The more I allowed myself to ruminate on Bill's betrayal, the more it cost me — and I'd already paid too high a price. Tonight my life depended on my being able to tuck the New Orleans Connection away in the back of my mind and focus instead on making sure nothing went wrong at the gala.

Fortunately, my 'gift' had rendered me skilled in the art of burying things I wasn't supposed to know. I was also practiced in stowing away ugly realities until I was ready to deal with them. (Of course, I couldn't help but notice that some things I _never_ seemed ready to deal with.)

"Sookie."

At the sound of my name, I broke away from my dark introspection. Eric, standing over me in Pam and Chow's pristine family room, looked as though he'd just returned from a GQ cover shoot. His blond mane was tamed into a low ponytail. He was wearing a perfectly tailored black pinstripe suit, black shirt, and red tie and cumberbund. (My inner cave woman took satisfaction in noting the red accents of his suit matched my dress perfectly). My mouth went a little dry at the sight of him; I may have licked my lips.

"Eric."

"Ready?" he asked, grinning.

"As I'll ever be." A sardonic smile curving my lips, I accepted his proffered hand and rose to my feet.

As my eyes locked onto his, I realized how comforting I found his presence. The irritation built up over the past hour fell away. I couldn't turn away from him if I wanted to and _I didn't want to_. All of a sudden a voice interrupted our little staredown.

"Have her back at a _decent_ time," smirked Pam. That Pam.

"This is stupid," griped Thalia. Shut up, Thalia.

Eric, his face inscrutable, turned away from me to level a hard look at Thalia.

"Master, we're bringing what we discussed?" asked Chow. Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea! He had the camera out again!

"Yes," Eric nodded. "Turn that off." Eric directed with a slight head movement; he then waited for Chow to hit the off switch before continuing. "I'm carrying a knife. Thalia is wearing a sword—"

"I can't sit! And this dress _stinks_!"

Eric's grasp on my hand tightened. Ouch. Shut up, Thalia.

"Thalia." Eric's eyes were glacial as he brought his focus back to the diminutive ancient. "Pam informs me you have been less than cooperative. Pam, you know, is my lieutenant. In my absence, you are to accord her the same respect you do me." He paused. "We would like for you to stay in Area Five but you can always go." I could see his eyes were glowering. "Am I making myself clear?"

"Yes, Sheriff," Thalia replied with a pout. She gestured to me with a jerk of her head. "Your telepath wants to know about fairies. I told her they're no good."

That was unexpected. I wasn't sure if Thalia was trying to deflect attention away from herself onto me or if she was trying to show how helpful she could be. Either way, for a brief moment all eyes were on me —and not in a good way.

His face expressionless, I caught Eric cast his eyes over my head to meet Pam's. Taking a step backwards, I, too, turned to look at Pam. While her expression was nearly as blank as Eric's, the way they were looking at one another made me suspicious that they were engaging in a silent conversation.

After a moment, Eric spoke.

"We'll answer your questions after the gala, Sookie." From the look on his face, I could tell Eric wasn't particularly looking forward to that upcoming Q and A session.

"Sure," I replied, my voice a mix of doubt and trepidation. Bringing my eyes away from Pam and Eric I saw that Chow was finally putting his camera away, while Thalia, frowning, was staring into space. I wished for my new hair stylist and BFF, Immanuel, but he was long gone. With Eric's warning to Thalia echoing and the unpleasant discussion regarding fairies looming, the tension in the room had ratcheted up a couple of notches. Mindful of my gran's advice, I wondered how I could recover our little troop; finally, my brain managed to zero in on a topic. "Pam, when're y'all coming out to the hotel?"

"Why Sookie? Do you feel you need a chaperone?" Smirking, she paused for effect. "Don't worry. We'll be right behind you." Pam's eyes darted from me to Eric and back again; she, as usual, was taking great pleasure in teasing us.

"Great," I replied, sounding much more chipper than I felt. "I feel better already." If I'd been Pinocchio, my nose would've been passing through the hotel lobby right then.

Fully aware of how my feelings were at odds with my words, Eric shot me a look of amusement. Damn Sookie Channel.

ooOOOoo

A few minutes later, Eric and I were exiting the house and making our way to the Corvette which was parked in the driveway. As he threaded his fingers with mine and held the car door open for me, my inner cave woman was all too happy taking note of his date-like behavior.

Letting go of Eric's hand, I was just about to lower myself into the car when Eric stilled my movements by placing a hand on each shoulder. As he turned me to face him, I felt my heart skip a beat.

The beat traveled south to a warm, warm place.

"You haven't cried again," he observed gently. It should've been a question but I knew it wasn't.

"Nope. Wouldn't change a thing. Besides I don't have time for it now."

As he nodded, I could see Eric's lips were turned upward. I registered the smile which didn't quite reach his eyes. His eyes, I thought, were conveying something else. Pride?

"You're wise not to let it affect you. Practical."

"Sometimes a person doesn't have a choice." I let out a sigh. My words took on a world of multiple meanings as my mind wandered back to the New Orleans' Connection. "Did you find out anything? You know...about the _Queen_?"

"No," he shook his head. He fell silent as he weighed the pros and cons of disclosure; I figured he wouldn't want me to worry just then even if there was something worth worrying about. "I haven't spoken to anyone regarding the new information. My plan is to observe the Queen and her attendants tonight. I will introduce you to her, of course." A ripple of fear and anxiety passed over me at his words. "I _did_ tell Pam. Before I came to collect you."

"Oh…" I experienced a fresh stab of pain at the knowledge that Pam, Chow and Thalia knew of my humiliation. (I assumed the other two vamps would have overheard since they were in the house). I cleared my throat to cover up what would've been a small cry of anguish. Pulling my eyes from Eric's, I focused instead on a bronze lantern-style light fixture that stood adjacent to the brick walkway that led to the front door. I concentrated on regulating my breathing; crying, I told myself, was _not_ an option.

"Sookie, please do not let it…" He stopped speaking. Did he realize there was nothing in the world he could say that would erase the pain? I felt a cool hand on my cheek. I obliged Eric by turning my head as he prompted and found myself once more caught in his gaze.

"You are beautiful." He smiled at me. No one had ever looked me in the eyes and said that. My instinct was to lower my head, but Eric's hand on my cheek held me in place.

Looking up into his wide blue eyes, I imagined myself catching a glimpse into his history: centuries of survival, civilization, birth, death. Centuries of Eric. I might be pretty, but I knew I couldn't possibly compare to what he'd seen, the beauty he must've witnessed over his long lifetime.

Unable to meet his gaze any longer, I averted my eyes. Despite my knee-jerk skepticism at his assertion, I still couldn't keep the blush from working its way across my features. Somehow I mustered a response.

"Thank you," I said simply.

Soon after we were settling into the car. Disconcerted, I recognized the subtle encroachment of what was becoming an increasingly familiar yet still unwelcome guest as far as I was concerned: the Awkward Silence. I quietly watched as Eric slid the key into the ignition and switched on the heat.

"I want you to stay close to me tonight." He cut a sideways glance to me.

"So I gathered," I mumbled, recalling the last minute change in plans. "Pam said I'm your '_plus one_.'" I might've scrunched up my face as I said those last words.

Eric turned his head again to peer at me as he steered the car out of Pam's driveway. "Is that so terrible, Sookie? Being my '_plus one_'?"

Terrible? Was it _terrible_?

Eric had literally saved my life in Jackson. What he'd done for me earlier that evening may not have qualified as saving my life but it certainly counted as something. Maybe preserving my spirit?

Not to mention his kisses were incendiary; death by fire might not be so bad if Eric Northman was fanning the flames.

Irrespective of his willingness to look out for my well-being and his superior kissing skills, I genuinely enjoyed just being in a room with him. Maybe more importantly I enjoyed just being myself with him.

Given all that, I figured I'd be okay accompanying Eric to a black tie event as his '_plus one_'.

_But why the hell didn't I know whether or not it was a date?_

"Well, no. I guess not," I finally answered in as neutral a tone as I could manage. "But I thought I was going to the gala as _Michele_." I tried to say the name with significance. "_Not_ Sookie."

Eric smiled, teasingly. "Does it make a difference, my Sookie?"

_Yes_! Contemplating my response, I looked over at Eric. I was just about to open my mouth when he spoke again, surprising me.

"_What's in a name_?" he said. "_That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet_."

Talk about being blindsided: Was Eric Northman, Badass Vampire Sheriff and Former Viking really quoting Shakespeare to me? He hadn't said anything poetic to me since apologizing for Callisto's attack the previous summer. He hadn't recited poetry back then as much as he'd just strung together flowery words to distract me from the pain. With a sudden flash of insight, it occurred to me how Eric always seemed ready, willing, and able to distract me from pain, both the physical variety and the non-physical variety. I willed myself to stay calm as I felt my heart start to flutter.

Just as I was starting to think maybe I wasn't crazy for thinking it was a date, Eric's next words pulled me back into reality.

"So, Miss Stackhouse." He glanced at me as he made an abrupt stop at a red light. "Let's get down to business." Disappointed, my eyes widened at his choice of words. "What new information did you uncover in our investigation?"

Right. Down to business. Bitter and pungent, I could practically taste the disappointment in my mouth.

"Well, I'm pretty sure Jake is responsible for detonating the floating candles and I'm also pretty sure he was gonna use the RFIDs to make it happen."

"What about the trigger?"

Glancing out the passenger window, I shrugged. "I don't know. We'll have to keep our eyes open for somebody doing something they shouldn't."

I noticed we were turning onto Clyde Fant Parkway.

"I meant what I said, Sookie." Without warning, Eric's tone changed. I brought my eyes back over to meet his.

"What?"

"Whether Michele or Sookie, you are beautiful. Never doubt it."

Caught off-guard again, I was at a loss. "Um …you clean up pretty nice yourself."

"Thank you." He smiled his lazy grin and I saw his fangs had run out. "As much as I like to be dirty, I do enjoy cleaning up once in a while." He winked at me, prompting me to chuckle. I was relieved that we seemed to be slowly but surely making our way out of the Land of Awkward Silences.

"I have several things I need to tell you. The queen has reported that the Arkansas vamps have expressed interest in investing in Area Five. They contacted her with their interest and this is no doubt why Jennifer Catar was questioning Bobby about me."

"Okay," I nodded. "What about Las Vegas?"

"What about it?"

"Do you know anything about the vamps from Las Vegas?"

Eric shrugged. "Not really. But it doesn't matter."

"Why doesn't it matter?"

"I expect they won't be a concern for much longer."

Oh. _Because they'll all be dead_ was the subtext I got from his hard tone. Time to change the subject.

"I forgot to ask earlier…What happened with the florist?"

"Do you remember Dr. Ludwig?"

"Of course." Even if she hadn't saved my life, the woman stood three feet high and almost assuredly was a hobbit. All three qualities pretty much secured her a spot on my All-time List of Unforgettable Supes.

"He's with her until we can figure out how to undo the spell."

"What about Mark Stonebrook?"

"Are you suggesting Mark can undo the spell?"

Actually I hadn't been suggesting that, but it certainly seemed possible hearing Eric say it. "No, I was asking who was guarding Mark but now that you mention it, Mark might be able to reverse the spell on the florist." Another thought occurred to me. "Amelia Broadway might be able to as well."

Eric nodded. "Yes, good point. Clancy and Gerald are guarding Mark."

Recalling my curiosity that Eric would allow Weres to babysit Mark at Fangtasia during the day, I had to ask. "Where is Mark being held?"

Eric looked at me, hesitantly. Suddenly my revelation of a few days earlier came back to me; maybe there was a reason I didn't know certain things. Our next words came out at the same time.

"Never mind."

"You don't need to know."

Silently, I nodded and refocused my eyes on the crowded and lit up hotel we were quickly approaching.

Although I knew it was a big night and I'd been heavily involved in taking care of the last minute details for the gala, I was still surprised when we arrived at the El Dorado.

A dozen or so cars were lined up waiting for valet service while several reporters stood outside snapping photographs and filming local Shreveport notables alighting from their vehicles. In retrospect I was somewhat obtuse (Word of the Day!) in not realizing sooner how newsworthy the gala would be, especially with the discovery of a bomb earlier in the week. I concluded Marnie must've been responsible for dealing with the press and Christian must've just taken over the responsiblity with her death.

As we drove past the valet line, I threw Eric a confused look.

He grinned, shaking his head. "Hmm, all things considered, do you really think I'd let a stranger inside my car?"

Okay, he had me there. I let out a breath. "No, guess not."

"I have my own parking spot," he announced smugly.

"Oh?" Remembering something, I smiled. "Christian said I'd get my own spot if I took the concierge position." I could be smug, too.

Eric's eyes widened at that. It was then I realized I hadn't filled him in on Christian's job offer.

"The concierge position? Explain...?"

"Since Christian is taking over for Marnie, he needs to hire a new concierge."

"And he's offered you the position? What about the events coordinator position?"

"He said the hotel doesn't need a full-time events coordinator right now."

"Have you decided what you're going to do?"

"Nope," I shook my head. "Not yet."

We turned into the garage and a few minutes later, Eric was pulling the Corvette into a parking spot adjacent to an employee entrance.

"And here we are," announced Eric as he turned off the engine. After waiting a second for Eric to unlock the doors, I shifted in my seat about to open my door when Eric stopped me.

"Wait."

I watched as Eric leaned forward — across my lap — to extract something from the glove compartment. My jaw dropped when I realized what it was: a beautiful red corsage. I watched in silence as Eric sat back in his seat, the small container in his hand.

"You are already lovely." He grinned at me, his eyes on mine. "These roses are hardly necessary. But I wanted you to have them."

Stunned, I could only nod as I held out my hand and allowed Eric to place the corsage on my wrist. After a few seconds, I was finally able to speak. "Uh...it's lovely...thank you." Miss Articulate.

Eric brought his hand up to gently caress my cheek. Fingering several blonde hair strands that once were mine, he gave me a wry smile. "While I like the red, I much prefer the natural you."

I brought my hand up to his. At our connection, I felt a spark of electricity pulse through me.

My hand still on his, Eric lightly displaced my hair to peek at my ear. "The jewels that adorn your ears are very flattering."

My free hand traveled to my earlobe; I couldn't remember what earrings I had worn. Diamond and ruby pendant.

"Oh, these are…Pam's. I don't have anything this nice."

"You shall then."

"I wasn't hinting for gifts, Eric." Baffled, I just stared at him.

"And I wasn't asking permission, Sookie." I could tell he also wasn't interested in a debate.

What was going on? I sat back trying to regroup as Eric finally climbed out of the car. I kept reminding myself to breathe as he came around to my side to help me out of the low-riding vehicle. Mindless of my effort, my heart continued to beat a little faster than usual. Again, I found myself warming to the idea that this was a date.

Taking Eric's hand, I scrambled out of the car hurriedly, a little too hurriedly. Losing my balance on the absurdly high heels Pam had strong-armed me into wearing, I tripped, falling into Eric's waiting embrace.

"Gotcha."

"Yeah. I can see that."

Given our proximity as well as our height difference — even with my pumps — my eyes were fixed on his lips. Studying them as I was, I wasn't surprised when Eric slowly lowered his face, bringing his lips down to mine. Starting off sweet and soft, it didn't take long for the kiss to deepen. I parted my lips, allowing Eric's demanding tongue entry, while my own found itself happily welcomed in Eric's cool mouth. My arms snaked around his neck as if they had a will of their own. Feeling a rush of warmth spread throughout my body, I settled comfortably into his solid embrace. Pulling away, Eric passed his lips across my cheek at an excrutiatingly slow pace, finally tracing a path down my neck. At the feel of his fangs lightly grazing my skin, I shivered and let out a moan.

"Miss Stackhouse…"

"Hmmm?"

"I understand there is some confusion as to whether tonight is business or pleasure…"

Oh God, there wasn't any confusion _right then_. As he slid lower, my breathing was becoming more and more hitched. I brought my arms down to circle Eric's waist under his suit jacket. If he hadn't been so crisply and gorgeously made up, I would've been tempted to undo his buttons and yank his shirt out of his pants. That's how badly I wanted to touch his flesh.

"Is there?" I was barely able to formulate thoughts. Pam must have told him about my less than enthusiastic response to the last minute revelation that I was to be his '_plus one_.'

Eric stifled a laugh. "I don't know. Is there?"

"Hmmm…maybe…I didn't understand why you didn't just say something yourself? Why was it Pam who told me?"

He pulled his lips away from where he'd been kissing the top of my breast. I felt like crying. Suddenly he pulled himself away from me so I could see his face.

"I don't want any questions lingering, my Sookie. This," he paused, "is pleasure." He grinned. Even with his fangs, something about his smile made me think of a child. I returned his smile. "This is great pleasure." He brought his lips down to mine once more and I was lost.

Finally we drew apart.

"As for why I didn't say anything, I didn't think it necessary. I want you. I thought I'd made that clear."

"Oh." It was certainly clear now. At least, my girl parts seemed to get the message loud and clear.

The smile on Eric's lips was gradually replaced with a serious line. I could still see the amusement in his eyes. Uh-oh. I braced myself.

"Are you ready, my Trouble-magnet?"

I huffed in protest. "_Don't call me that_!"

Eric raised a questioning eyebrow. "GI Jane?"

"_No!_" I shook my head, laughing. "That's not good either."

Pushing the car door shut, Eric pulled me towards him and guided me towards the employee entrance.

"Well, maybe something will come to me," he chuckled.

"I hope not…" I mock-glared at him.

As we reached the hotel entrance, Eric paused. Twisting in his arms, I stretched up for a quick final kiss before we headed inside.

As we made our way inside the hotel, three things percolated in my mind:

Area Five's time of reckoning had come.

I was —_more or less_ — on a date with the Sheriff of Area Five.

And —despite our _date_ —I had a sneaking suspicion that Sheriff remained well-skilled in the art of bullshitting.

* * *

**AN: Hmmm. That Eric. Whatever could Sookie be suspicious about? Only 6 more chapters to find out!**

**Thank you everyone for reading, reviewing, alerting, faving, etc. Hugs to the June 9 reviewers who helped Dead Man hit 1,000 on my birthday!**


	29. Worst Date Ever, Part 1

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious**

* * *

My arm tucked under his, Eric and I made our way across the hotel lobby. Arriving at the casino entrance, we joined the long line of guests waiting to be cleared by security. Todd Donati and one of his men—I think his name was Joe—stood on either side of the entrance, checking invitations before allowing guests into the casino.

It wasn't lost on me that—since Eric owned the hotel— we probably could've just gone to the head of the line. For some reason he didn't want to do that. A smile played on my lips as I tried to come up with theories why. Maybe since he's immortal he didn't mind waiting on lines? Maybe he wanted the photographers to take photos of _us_? (My inner cave woman liked this one.) Maybe he wanted the photographers to take photos of _him_? (Watching him preen for the cameras, I snickered at the idea that Eric was, in fact, a "vamp" in every sense of the word.)

Suddenly, my date leaned down to whisper in my ear. "Are you hearing anything?"

Oh! Of course, that's why we were standing on line! "I was conserving my energy," I whispered back. "I'll scan around a bit."

Glancing around, I marveled as I took in the full splendor of the hotel. The lobby was buzzing with excitement and an energy that was palpable. Milling around were well-dressed and obviously well-to-do guests looking for all the world like they'd just arrived from a Hollywood red carpet event. Some stood waiting in line at the coat check, while others stood or sat in the lobby catching up with friends and acquaintances.

I'd never before in my life attended such an elaborate affair. In fact, the only thing that came remotely close was Club Dead—AKA Josephine's—in Jackson. Even at Club Dead, a woman (more or less) could get away with wearing pants. I didn't think even leather-loving Debbie Pelt would've been able to pull off slacks tonight. Although, given that she was insane _and_ had really bad taste—as evidenced by her hairstyle—I had to think she'd probably give it a try.

As I listened to the cacophony of external noises, I perused the lobby and vicinity for anything that seemed off. Allowing my eyes to wander to the front desk, I saw that Christian had been relieved by a hotel staffer named Jenny. Dipping into Jenny's head, I confirmed that Christian had indeed gone home for a much-needed break. The girl looked up and our eyes accidentally met but she didn't recognize me. I wasn't surprised since we'd only met once and I looked very different then with red hair and glasses. Not to mention the fact that I was currently wearing a gorgeous red gown and accessorized with an even more gorgeous blond hunk. I stole a glance at Eric who was busy conducting his own visual scan of the lobby.

"Hmm," I murmured. "It's really beautiful..."

"Yes," agreed Eric. By the look in his eyes as he met my gaze, it was obvious he was not referring to the hotel. I felt my cheeks redden.

"I meant the hotel," I giggled. "You know? _Your_ hotel? The one _you_ spent all that time and money on renovating?"

Eric shrugged. "I appreciate beauty, Sookie. I like it best when it's natural and doesn't require any effort on my part." He lowered his head bringing his lips down to lightly graze the spot behind my ear, but I felt it much, much lower.

I closed my eyes as I sought to keep my breathing even. Easy girl. If Eric was going to tease me like that all night, then it was going to be a very long night and I seriously needed to cool my jets.

All of a sudden, I recalled my suspicion about our conversation in the parking garage. It occurred to me that –_if_ I was correct in my suspicion—then I probably ought to be annoyed with Eric.

Probably. Maybe. Just a little. Dammit. That certainly did a good job of cooling my jets.

Frowning, I reasoned with myself that cooled jets was a good thing as now I'd pay more attention to the investigation and less attention to my date. Sensing my sudden mood swing, Eric gave me a curious look. Ignoring him, I peered through the open doors. Inside the casino, I could see how every surface—the new hardwood tables and bar stools, the pillars, the wall art—seemed to glitter a shimmery gold under the glow of the lighting. I could hear the faint strands of chamber music echoing from within.

Seeing more people pass the security check and proceed into the casino, I realized that soon it would be our turn. Feeling a smile of anticipation forming on my face, I promptly reigned myself in.

I seriously needed to remember why we were there.

"We'll have a real night like this," Eric said, seemingly out of the blue. I gave him a quizzical look as he continued. "Obviously, tonight…is less than what I would've wanted."

Wordlessly, I nodded. Was Eric already thinking about Date #2?

Focus, Sookie. Focus.

As several flashes went off in front of us, I was reminded of the photographers. Glancing at their event badges, it seemed that only one had a VIP badge that would get him inside the casino.

Thank God for small favors.

"Who's the photographer with the casino access?" I whispered to Eric. The photographer, a supe, was a heavyset black man with graying hair and mustache.

"Alfred Cumberland. He has a studio in Shreveport. We hired him to cover the gala. He's also doing a promotional calendar for Fangtasia. He's a shifter."

"Oh." I thought about what Eric said. _Promotional calendar_? Later. "You think it's smart to have someone taking photos inside the gala?"

"No," he snorted. "But the decision was made weeks ago."

Our conversation was cut short when a reporter leaned forward to ask us a question.

"The lovely lady's name for the caption, Mr. Northman?"

I felt my eyes widen. Wasn't that a good question! What the hell name was I using? I hoped I didn't look too flummoxed—a calendar word—by the question; fortunately Eric answered.

"Miss Sookie Stackhouse."

We smiled prettily as the photographer snapped a shot of the two of us. It occurred to me that—depending on how the night went—either all these photographs commemorating our "date" would either be really nice to have or really awful.

Finally at the head of the line, it was our turn to show our invitation to the security guards; it was at this point I realized Eric didn't even have an invitation. Instead Eric made eye contact with Todd Donati, who silently gave us the green light to enter the casino. I saw a look of surprise pass over the security director's features as he recognized me.

"Miss Sookie Stackhouse." Eric informed the two guards of my real name.

"Still the events coordinator?" asked Donati.

"You bet," I replied, nodding. I lifted my cell phone from my clutch purse to let him know I was still on-call.

Unfazed—I really was starting to appreciate that man—Donati just nodded and turned his attention to the next guests.

As Eric and I walked into the casino, I felt like all eyes were on us. I was sure Eric was garnering the majority of the attention, but in my red dress, heels and jewelry supplied by Pam, I knew I would've stood out on my own –had I not been walking arm-in-arm with Mr. GQ.

My shields firmly in place, I saw Hondo and Bettina scurrying over by the stage. Although they glanced at the door when everyone else did, they seemed not to have noticed me—or, if they had noticed me—they hadn't registered me as Michele. Feeling prickly, I sensed eyes on me. Looking over my shoulder, my blue eyes encountered violet eyes staring back at me.

Quinn.

Boy, was there a complex mix of emotions visible in his face. I was happy he was a shifter and I was more than happy I had my shield up, as I doubted being privy to his thoughts right then would've revealed anything good.

"What's wrong?" asked Eric. My anxiety was apparently coming in loud and clear on the Sookie Channel.

"Quinn's staring at me." Eric's eyes shot over to Quinn, who was now openly glaring at Eric.

"Cats are known to do that," Eric responded without missing a beat. "Maybe we can distract him with a toy from the gift shop."

In spite of myself, I let out a snort. "You know what I mean," I replied, exasperated. "I'm wondering what he thinks of me."

Eric shrugged. _Who cares?_ that gesture said.

I knew if I let Eric's attitude rub off on me, I ran the risk of being the most hated woman in northern Louisiana. I didn't think my laughing at Eric's joke helped my situation with Quinn. I gave the E(E)E headman a slight smile, which he returned with a stony look.

The Northern Louisiana Sookie Haters Club, serving Northern Louisiana for a quarter century and counting.

Biting my lip, I wondered if I ought to just pull up my big girl panties and go say something to Quinn. Honestly, I had no clue as to what the appropriate thing to say was, given the circumstances. I highly doubted my Gran would've been able to come up with something. As my internal debate continued, Quinn resolved my dilemma by walking away.

I shrugged it off, thinking maybe I'd have a chance to talk with him later.

"Come," said Eric. "We have to mingle."

My hand still tucked under his arm, I accompanied Eric to the center of the casino floor where Copley Carmichael stood drinking with Tyrese Marley.

"Cope," Eric greeted the real estate developer with something resembling a smile. "Welcome to Shreveport."

"Eric," nodded Copley Carmichael. "Thank you. This is my employee, Tyrese Marley." Tyrese Marley similarly nodded his head in greeting. Both men, I noticed, were savvy enough to the ways of vampires that neither of them made the freshman faux pas of attempting to shake hands.

Eric returned Tyrese's nod; Tyrese, meanwhile, had recognized me and was conspicuously staring at me. Eric's eyes rolled over to mine and I could tell he was having his own cave man moment.

"Introduce me, Eric." I smiled my friendliest, most winsome smile. At the very least it worked on Eric, who stopped giving Tyrese the evil eye.

"This is Sookie Stackhouse," Eric introduced me.

Smiling as I offered him my hand, I winked at Tyrese, who kept his face immobile. There were some people I knew instinctively who could play along with the evening's surprises. I had Tyrese pegged as one; I did _not_ regard Copley Carmichael with the same faith. So I was pleased that the real estate tycoon didn't seem to recognize me. Dipping into their brains I could tell just how right I was.

_Hot piece of ass this one. Guess she likes vamps. At least she's not a Lesbian. Which reminds me, where the hell is Amelia?_

_Girl says she's Sookie, who am I to say different? There's got to be a reason for her to lie. It's probably a damn good reason. I'm not going to mess things up for her. Especially with that boyfriend looking out for her. _

As Eric and Copley Carmichael made small talk about the hotel renovations and the city's initiative to attract the film industry, I resumed my mental scan of the casino. I was surprised by how many faces were familiar to me — either folks I actually knew or local celebrities who were regularly mentioned in the news. A cold feeling washed over me as I recognized one person in particular.

"Eric!" I hissed, tugging on his arm.

Eric halted his conversation with Copley Carmichael to meet my eyes.

"I need to talk to you. Important," I said quietly.

"Excuse me, Cope," Eric said. "Enjoy your evening."

Once we were a few yards from Copley and Tyrese, Eric lowered his head to whisper in my ear.

"What's the problem?"

"Alcide is here."

"Yes," Eric paused and I expected some derogatory comment to fall from his lips, but he surprised me by keeping it civil. "He's a local businessman. I'm sure his father is here, too." He chuckled. "The elder Hervaux, while his own worst enemy, appears to be among the casino's best patrons. Were their names not on the list?"

"Yeah," I nodded, remembering Jackson Herveaux's name being on the list but not Alcide's. "The dad, not Alcide. Anyway, it's not him that concerns me; it's who he's got with him." I motioned with my head to where Alcide stood with his companions.

"The were-bitch Pelt." Eric's voice lost all signs of amusement.

"Yeah. My sentiments exactly." I turned to check out Alcide and his group.

A full Werewolf, Alcide Herveaux was huge. His tousled hair was thick, curly and black as pitch, while his eyes were a clear green. As payment for a debt owed to Eric, Alcide had accompanied me to Club Dead the previous fall as my escort/bodyguard. (Considering how it went, I couldn't really regard him as much of a bodyguard). In any case, he'd dressed pretty nattily to go to Club Dead. Tonight he similarly didn't disappoint, wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo; the man looked pretty good.

His date, however, was a different story altogether. Tall and lean, with a long face, the one thing that could be said about Debbie Pelt was that she certainly was a striking woman. She wore her straight black hair cut in tiny asymmetrical clumps that swung with her every movement. While it had undoubtedly cost an arm and a leg, it was still the dumbest haircut I'd ever seen. I thought the cut was awful on dogs at the Westminister Dog Show; it was ten times worse on a grown woman wearing it in all seriousness.

I wasn't sure how I ought to react to Debbie's presence. I knew running over to say hello would have been hypocritical bordering absurd. Debbie and I were well beyond that. She'd tried to kill me, a fact that Alcide knew; though he'd thrown her out when he first learned of it, she still seemed to exercise some fascination for him. For a smart and practical and hardworking man, Alcide had a great big blind spot, and here she was, all gussied up and groomed and ready for to show.

What can I say? Maybe Alcide's partially blind? Now curious about the possibility of Alcide having hidden 'afflictions'—in addition to the all-too-visible Debbie —I made a point of checking out the others in the Herveaux party.

Alcide's father, slightly shorter than Alcide, was just as husky as his son. Jackson Herveaux had iron-gray hair instead of black, and a bolder nose. He had the same olive skin as Alcide. Jackson looked all the darker because he was standing by a pale, delicate woman with gleaming white hair.

Jackson Herveaux's date might have been anywhere from fifty-seven to sixty-seven. Her eyes were a washed-out blue, her smooth skin was magnolia pale with the faintest tinge of pink, her white hair was immaculately groomed. She was wearing a black gown, and had elegance to spare. As well as diamonds to spare, both on her hands and on her ears.

I knew the older woman wasn't Alcide's mother, although I could tell she was a Were. Debbie wasn't a Were, but she was a were. I couldn't remember exactly what she was and really I guess I just didn't care enough to save it to my mental recall. Were-lynx or were-fox or a were-mongoose.

Eric's voice shook me out of my reverie.

"Sookie? I said I could have Donati's men escort her out."

Looking up at Eric, I considered that idea. As wonderful as it sounded, just on the off chance that she was involved in our investigation, kicking her out now might hurt our chances of capturing whoever was responsible for the bomb threats and the murdered vampires.

Regretfully, I shook my head. "No," I had Eric's full attention; he'd obviously expected me to jump at the suggestion. "If she's involved –and I wouldn't put it past her—we need to have her here so we can see what she's up to." After playing back my logic in his head, Eric nodded.

"If she does anything to you—if she upsets you—you are to let me know _immediately_."

In the past, when I'd been (dating? no, not dating) _with_ Bill, I'd had all sorts of inner monologues about the "Godfather" nature of dating a vampire and the ramifications of complaining about people.

Debbie, however, had tried to _kill_ me. I was left with no choice but to write her off as crazy. Additionally, I had no reason to think she was done with me. The fact that she had no cause to kill me seemed to matter not a whit to her.

"I'll have Pam keep an eye on her."

Silently I nodded. Someone needed to watch her.

As we stood there, Eric pulled out his cell—I assumed he was texting Pam informing her of her Debbie Watch assignment—while I continued to observe Alcide and his party. Since I was watching, I knew the instant Alcide felt my eyes on him and turned to look at me. I watched his pleasure at seeing me quickly morph into something else as he realized I was standing with my hand tucked under Eric's arm. As Alcide raised his eyes to meet mine, I noted his were brimming with disappointment and disgust.

Like his _plus one_ was so damn great?

A few minutes later, I left Eric conferring with Pam and Maxwell and went to get us drinks. While waiting at the bar, I lowered my shields to conduct another quick scan of the room. Nothing struck me as interesting, until I 'heard' an angry voice directed at me.

_Jesus, Sookie. What the hell?_

I turned around sharply to find less than pleased green eyes staring at me.

"Hi to you, too, Alcide," I said coldly.

His eyes widened. Obviously he hadn't intended for me to hear that harsh mental rebuke.

"Sorry," he cleared his throat. "I forgot. Again. Hi, Sookie. How are you?"

I nodded coolly. This man, as gorgeous as he was, when the chips were down, had done nothing to defend me, little to support me, and even less to comfort me. Even now he had brought Debbie Pelt out for a night on the town in Shreveport, which was arguably _my_ home turf. He really seemed to have a mental block on the fact that she'd tried to kill me.

"I'm actually doing pretty well, Alcide." I smiled to back up my statement.

"Bill okay with you being Eric's arm candy?"

Like the only thing I could be to Eric was _arm candy_? Sometimes I struggled over the fact that I'd once thought Alcide possessed _any_ charm; I certainly hadn't seen evidence of it in quite some time.

"I don't really care what Bill Compton is okay with these days."

Alcide's eyes squinted as he puzzled over my response.

"Where is he? Is he here?" Alcide's voice was deceptively calm.

"Bill?" I asked; at Alcide's nod, I continued. "Bill's in Peru. Not that it matters to me where he is."

My drinks ready, I dug around inside my bag for money to tip the bartender. Glancing at Alcide, I saw he was staring down at me, his face wearing a look of confusion.

"You two aren't together?"

"Who? _Me and Bill?_" Trying not to get upset, I concentrated on breathing. That question would've upset me this morning; now it cut me to quick. I gave Alcide a hard glare. "Alcide, I'm not sure what business this is of yours but I haven't seen Bill Compton since I came back from Jackson, except when he came over to tell me he was leaving the country."

"But she told me you were back with Bill," Alcide said in a very strange voice.

"Who told you that?"

"Debbie. Who else?"

I'm afraid my reaction was not very flattering. "And you _believed_ Debbie?" I didn't even try to keep the incredulity out of my voice.

"She said she'd stopped by Merlotte's on her way over to see me, and she'd seen you and Bill acting very, ah, friendly while she was there."

"And you believed _her_?" Maybe if I kept shifting the emphasis, he'd tell me he was just joking. He couldn't possibly be this dense. Or maybe he was.

Seeing this side of Alcide gave me a new insight into his father, the gambler. Gamblers always think the next one is going to be the big one.

Alcide's gamble, apparently, was that he kept convincing himself that maybe the next day would be the day his girlfriend stopped being a lying, murderous sociopath.

Alcide was looking sheepish now, or as sheepish as a werewolf can look.

"Okay, that was dumb," he admitted. "I'll deal with her."

"_Right_." Pardon me if I didn't sound very convinced. I'd heard that before.

"So Bill's really in Peru?"

"As far as I know."

"And you're with _Eric_?"

"As far as I know," I repeated with a smile.

"He'll hurt you." Alcide said, his voice cutting in its matter-of-factness. "It's in their nature, Sook. _Especially_ _his_."

I swallowed my own fears in that area as I considered my words; I would give Alcide no satisfaction _whatsoever_ in this regard.

"Well, I guess we'll find out, won't we?" I shrugged coolly. "So far he's the only one who hasn't hurt me. I seem to recall almost being killed trying to save Bill; the only reason I'm here today is 'cos _Eric_ took care of me." Smiling wryly at Alcide, I hoped to remind him just how much 'support' _he'd_ shown me in Jackson. Still smiling, I picked up my gin and tonic and Eric's blood and began to walk away from the bar. After a few steps, I paused to turn around.

"Alcide?"

"Yeah?"

"You have a nice time tonight, y'hear?"

Shamed into silence, all Alcide could do was nod. Bitter though it was, I took no small pleasure in having the last word.

As I made my way across the casino, I couldn't help but recognize that the night—even without bombs— was shaping up to be one I'd probably rather forget.

* * *

**AN: Poor Sook. She knew the prospects of it being a good date weren't good. Sorry updates slowed a bit. Real!Life interference. I'm being assigned to the field for a month so lets hope my muse enjoys hotel living. In the meantime, please review. :) My muse enjoys reviews. **

**Gala: Romola Garai is who I picture as Sookie. I have a picture of her with a red dress that works altho I'd prefer spaghetti straps and more cleavage. ASkars is okay as Eric but let's remember Eric is supposed to look 24 and have long hair. I had a definite idea of what I wanted Eric to wear (red to match Sookie). Viggo Mortensen came close in a red carpet outfit. See my profile for photo links. Or just use your imagination!**

**A vote for Kill Bill is a vote to Kill Bill!: Oh No! Vampire Bill! is up for the Best Overall Under Giggle award on GiggleSnort. Please vote! Check my Fanfic profile for the link. Voting Deadline: July 2! **

**Snarky Sidekick Contest: is still going full snark ahead! First Prize: We have a hardcover Dead Reckoning signed by the one and only Charlaine Harris! See Contest Profile under my favorite authors. Deadline: Friday, July 15.**


	30. Worst Date Ever, Part 2

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious ****—**

* * *

A few minutes later I was once more standing with the Area Five vamps. As I caught myself first wondering where Chow and Thalia had gone and then glancing around looking for them, I had to laugh at the turn my life had taken: I was apparently the self-appointed Mother Hen to the Area Five vampires.

"What's the matter, Sookie?" asked Pam. "Who are you looking for?" Not smirking for once, I figured that would change as soon as I answered her question.

"Nothing really," I shrugged. "Just wondering where Chow and Thalia were."

"Thalia is by the door." Pam pointed and sure enough there was tiny Thalia in her much-despised, loose-fitting mauve dress that hid her sword from view. "Chow is out in the lobby." She paused, rolling her eyes. "He asked me not to say anything to Eric but I don't see why I can't tell you. (I didn't point out the fact that Eric stood only a few feet away and would likely hear whatever she said; I figured Pam knew this as well as I did and just didn't care.) He wanted to question the photographers about portrait-taking techniques."

"_Really_?" That Chow.

"Yes," she nodded. "To date his photography has been limited to _nude art_. He seems to not know what to do with subjects wearing clothes," she reported, her voice laced with mild contempt.

I found myself at a loss for words at that interesting little tidbit.

Glancing over at Eric, I noticed that his eyes were glued to the casino doors. Wondering what could have him so riveted, I followed his gaze to the door and saw that it was a diverse little band of vampires, one female circled by three males.

The female could not have been more than fifteen or sixteen when she had been turned. Her hair was a rich reddish brown, her skin as pale as milk, and her eyes were large, tilted, and almost the same brown as her hair. She wore sapphire jewelry—a complete set including a necklace, bracelets, and earrings. Her gown was a royal blue that matched her jewels. Elegant, she stood perhaps four inches shorter than my height of five foot six, and was groomed down to the last eyelash.

At her side was a male vampire who appeared to be a similar age to her, maybe sixteen. The vamp's face was baby smooth, his pale hair was thick and heavy. Like most of the men at the gala, he was wearing a tuxedo.

To look at them, one would think they ought to be playing video games somewhere or out on a date; they certainly didn't look like they should be dressed to the nines and attending a red carpet hotel gala. But I knew they weren't children, despite how they looked.

There was something in the way the teenage Wonder Vamp Duo held themselves that belied the truth of their nature; a potent sense of their power, stood by dormant and resonating just below the surface.

Rounding out the strange little group were two hulking big vampires. The two must have been considered giants in their day, since they stood perhaps six foot three. They looked like brothers, but maybe it was just their size and mien, and the color of their chestnut hair, that sparked the comparison: big as boulders, bearded, with pony-tails that trailed down their backs, the two looked like prime meat for the pro wrestling circuit. One had a huge scar across his face, acquired before death, of course. The other had had some skin disease in his original life.

I watched silently as Eric continued to make eye contact with the female and the shorter male. I knew instinctively that something was wrong. Deep inside a voice was telling me to run and to not look back. My instincts were screaming out Warning! Warning! Warning! My throat was dry and my thoughts were frazzled when Eric finally turned to me.

"Come. I am taking you to meet the Queen."

Up until that moment, the Queen of Louisiana had been a figure of mystery and fear. I knew little of her—and what I did know did not offer much comfort. I knew that Bill, charged to do her bidding, would apparently stoop to the lowest of levels to heed to her will. Even Eric—the big bad Viking—feared the ramifications of defying her wishes.

I had, by holding onto Bill's database months earlier, defied the Queen. But then I helped to save Bill—and secure the future of the database.

While in theory that ought to have appeased her and won me some brownie points, now everything was suspect.

Now I knew she was my cousin Hadley's lover and had—in all likelihood—sent Bill to Bon Temps to seduce me.

Why? What were her plans for me?

Although I knew she was going to be at the casino, given everything else going on, I hadn't had an opportunity to even consider what it would be like to meet her. Now time was not on my side. Here we were; it was time for me to meet her. I couldn't move; my body was frozen in shock.

"Sookie," Eric stroked my back in an effort to calm me. He brought his lips to my cheek, half-whispering, half-mouthing the words into my skin, so I alone 'heard' them. "Listen to me. It _will_ be okay. _This_ I promise you. But we must go to her."

Nodding with resolve, I put my hand in Eric's and together we walked to where the Queen's party sat at their reserved table.

Approaching the table, Eric nodded in servitude. "Your Majesty."

"Sheriff." Sophie-Anne nodded.

"This is Sookie Stackhouse." I felt Eric's hand gently resting on my back.

I just stared at them and attempted a curtsy, mimicking Eric's greeting. "Your Majesty."

"Ah, my telepath." The Queen smiled. Despite the fact that her words were not altogether unexpected, given what I'd found out, I still felt a chill run down my spine. Eric's hand moved from my back to my arm nearest to him and gave it a little squeeze. I knew he did it to bolster me but still it was a struggle keeping my legs from buckling. "Miss Stackhouse, I am Sophie-Anne LeClerq. This is Andre Paul." (The other member of the Wonder Vamp Duo.) "My guards, Sigebert and Wybert."(The Brothers Giganticus.)

Sophie-Anne's arm was tucked into Andre's, so I took him to be an equal of sorts. Her gesture as she introduced Sigebert and Wybert was more off-hand. I exchanged nods with the three male vamps. I was grateful for the vampire quirk of no shaking hands as I really didn't feel like coming into close contact with this crew. They terrified me.

"Miss Stackhouse, you are an interesting creature, aren't you?"

I had no idea what she meant; indeed, I thought she spoke more to herself than to me. I just stared at her, wide-eyed and prayed for the casino floor to swallow me up. "Ma'am?" I replied uncertainly.

"Ah, never mind. I imagine it must be difficult for you with your companion in Peru? Separated again and after his unfortunate stay in Jackson. How is Mr. Compton these days? I trust he is well?"

As much as was said in those four sentences, just as much was left unsaid.

Sophie-Anne knew Bill and I had been dating and she knew about Jackson (obviously). She knew his current whereabouts because I was pretty sure it was she who had instructed him to go, to research South American vamps in Peru.

What she didn't seem to know was that Bill and I were no longer a couple. I wasn't sure how smart it was to disabuse her of her mistaken notion, but it was out of my mouth before I had a chance to weigh all the pros and cons.

"Oh, I'm sure Bill is fine—though he and I are no longer together."

Sophie-Anne seemed to register that information with a slight rise of her eyebrow.

"Miss Stackhouse," Eric added, "has moved on to more pleasurable pastures." I felt his hand ghost along my back, settling on the small of my back.

"Oh," Sophie Anne replied; obviously surprised, she was quick to recover. "I see. She is _yours _then?"

Here we go again with the vampire possessiveness. Such a strong wave of frustration came over me, I nearly rolled my eyes.

"Yes, she is _mine_." I heard in Eric's tone the same measured determination I had heard in Bill's so many months ago when he'd uttered the same words first to Malcolm, Liam, and Diane and later to Eric himself.

"Of course." I saw the Queen's eyebrow flicker. "We'll have to make arrangements then, to accommodate you, Sheriff."

What the hell did she mean by _that_?

"There are many fetching humans at the Queen's Court, Eric," said Andre. "I am certain we can find one to your liking."

At Andre's words, I envisioned a Human Ring Toss, with vamps clambering around on all fours to capture fleeing humans and bring them back to the Queen, like a cat drops off tokens. Ick. That probably wasn't too far off. Focusing on the second part of Andre's comment I realized with a shock what he was actually saying: they wanted Eric to agree to swap me for another human.

I did my best to remain calm and control my breathing. It wasn't easy under the circumstances.

Eric had moved closer to me, the hand from my lower back had snaked around, and was now securely wrapped around my waist. I laid my hand over his, twining our fingers.

"Parting us is not that simple," replied Eric. "Miss Stackhouse and I are bonded."

It took every ounce of control to keep my face expressionless; I didn't think my eyes flying open in shock would work to our benefit right then. _Bonded?_ I did _not_ like the sound of _that_. What the heck did _that_ mean? I wasn't bonded to Eric, was I? Surely I'd know something like that?

Wondering if I ought to say something, I hesitated as I felt Eric's arm around my waist give me a slight squeeze. A message to hold my tongue I gathered.

Sophie-Anne turned to look at Andre. The way they stared at one another made me wonder if they were communicating telepathically. Finally the Queen turned her attention back to Eric and I.

"Is that so?" Sophie-Anne did not sound amused. At her next words, I almost could feel bad for Bill. Almost. "Bill Compton will have to answer for this." But apparently we weren't off the hook just yet. "Sheriff, we will have to discuss this further. I'm sure we can come up with an arrangement satisfactory to all."

Grateful as I was for Sophie-Anne's optimism, I still felt like fleeing the hotel right then, bombers be damned. I couldn't believe that a short time earlier, I'd regarded my little exchange with Alcide as the Most Uncomfortable Third-Party Conversation I Ever Had While On A Date.

My tete a tete with Sophie-Anne totally blew _that_ conversation out of the water.

I couldn't imagine anything worse happening at the gala, anything that could possibly top this one. Unless, of course, Bill were to suddenly return from Peru or possibly if my cousin Hadley made a surprise appearance.

"Of course," Eric nodded respectfully to his queen. "Now, your Majesty, if you will excuse us. We have security matters we must check on."

I held my breath; were we really almost in the clear?

"Yes, yes," Sophie-Anne nodded. "Go tend to what you must. Lovely casino, Eric. You and your child have outdone yourselves." She smiled. "_Truly outdone yourselves_."

("By scheming to steal the telepath I was scheming to steal," was the subtext.)

With final nods, we left the little New Orleans party to themselves. Eric's arm remained firmly around me as he led me out towards the casino doors.

"We need to go someplace quiet to talk," he whispered.

Wordlessly, I nodded. I had little understanding of what had just transpired and I was—justiably or not, although I thought it was probably justifiably— scared to death. My fear, of course, wasn't lost on Eric. His hand fell from my waist and he grabbed my hand. My eyes shot around to look at him and he wasn't looking at me but I could see, clearly depicted in his profile, a steely determination mixed with cold ruthlessness. I shivered, not from the temperature.

I never would've imagined myself happy to be dating someone easily capable of killing, but then again, I had several pretty unique situations I needed to deal with.

I hadn't asked to be born telepathic.

I hadn't asked my cousin to sell me out to the Queen of Louisiana.

I certainly hadn't asked Bill Compton to move to Bon Temps.

Now I was left with the conundrum of how to stay in control of my life, in light of other, more powerful beings wanting to take over the reins.

My eyes staring straight ahead, I wasn't paying much attention to the crowds milling around the casino entrance as I trailed after Eric. That is, I wasn't until a familiar voice shook me from my somber reflections.

"Hey, sis! Sis!"

My head swung around at the sound of Jason's voice. Oh no! Jason was here tonight! So was Sam! How had that slipped my mind?

Jason's girlfriend (they'd been out a few times, so I figured that qualified her beyond the normal "girl of the evening" title) was short and thin, with dusty black hair. I knew my brother didn't know it but she was a shape-shifter of some kind. An attractive if somewhat intense-looking girl, she changed into something furry or feathery when the moon was full.

Sam, of course, a shifter himself, knew what she was. I noticed my boss give her a hard look behind Jason's back, to remind her to behave herself. She returned Sam's glare, with interest. I had the feeling she didn't change into a kitten.

_Please don't let them get into any fireworks tonight_, I thought. My plate was already real, real full. Wanting to check in with them, I resisted as Eric attempted to lead me out of the casino.

"Wait. Hold on a second, Eric. I need to say hello to some folks." I detoured and stopped in front of Jason, Sam, and Jason's girl.

"Hi Jason," I smiled, desperate for a moment of normal. "Why don't you introduce me to your lady friend?"

"Aw, sure, uh," Jason nodded a greeting; I realized from his confused look, he had no idea how to introduce me.

Heck, I could hardly blame him.

"Hi, I'm Sookie." I held my hand out to the dark-haired shifter.

"Hi," she smiled but I could tell it was fake. "Crystal Norris."

"Sam," I turned to nod a greeting to my boss.

"Sookie," Sam smiled at me and gave Eric a neutral look. "Eric."

Eric nodded silently.

"Sook, you gonna introduce me to _your new man_?"

Of all the ways for Jason to word that question, he couldn't have picked a worse one. I knew it the second the words were out of his mouth. Jason, of course, was completely clueless as to the effect of his words.

At Jason's words, Sam's eyes bored into me first and then Eric, while Eric's eyes flew over to Sam. As the vampire and the shifter's eyes met in a unfriendly staredown, all I could do was look back and forth between the two of them.

The thinly veiled hostilities between the two men, creatures, who were both technically my employers and who both claimed to care about me, woke up Crystal who, previously uninterested in our little posse, was fascinated by the silent confrontation. She glanced from me to Sam to Eric and back again. Maybe Crystal was a ferret. Or a weasel?

Anxious to get behind the uncomfortable atmosphere, my brain flipped through any reasonable topic I could think of. "Are you two using Crystal's name?" I asked.

"Yeah, Sook," nodded Jason. "We're doin' just like you said to. Don't say I understand it, but no skin off my teeth." Turning to Crystal, he continued. "Right, pretty lady?" An embarrassed look coming over his face, he turned to Eric. "Ah, no offense, man."

"None taken." Eric, bemused, replied.

"Yeah, well. I don't understand why we had to _lie_," complained Crystal, a sullen look on her face.

I found it extremely hard to believe the little white lie I'd asked them to tell had brought Crystal the Weasel over to the dark side.

"Because there's some strange stuff going on and we need to be on our toes and…" Sighing, I closed my eyes briefly; my next words were a whisper. "It may not be a good thing to be related to me." I looked at Jason. "Promise me. Just keeping using Crystal's uncle's name."

"Sure Sook," agreed Jason, nodding. "Hey, so this is where you work? This place is nice, real nice."

"Sookie..." Eric's patience had obviously been exhausted as he was pulling me away from the tiny Bon Temps contingent.

"I'm sorry," I pleaded to Sam and Jason. "We really need to go check on some stuff. I'll be back, though."

"Sure, Sook," said Sam. "Do what you need to do."

"Sam, thanks for keeping an eye out." Gratefully, I took Sam's hand and silently conveyed my thanks.

"Hey!" called out Jason. "What about your fella?..." Jason gestured to Eric.

I rolled my eyes. Of all the times for Jason to play the role of Protective Big Brother, I couldn't believe he was choosing _then_ to do it. _Unbelievable_. Uncharitably, I chalked it up to him wanting to make a positive impression on Crystal. Although if he wanted to make a positive impression on Crystal, the Protective Big Brother act didn't strike me as the way to go.

Looking at Eric, I nearly rolled my eyes again. Sporting a cocky grin, all impatience apparently melted away at the thought of me introducing him as "my fella"!

"Eric, we _really_ have to go check with security."

"Introductions only take a moment, Sookie." Guilelessly, he smiled at me, lifting one blond eyebrow to gently emphasize his point. His beautiful face was wearing an obnoxious-yet-sexy combination of possessiveness and smugness. _Unbelievable_.

Embarrassed under Sam's watchful gaze, anxious to hide from Crystal's prying eyes, unable to tolerate any more of my brother's nonsense, and plain old antsy to just get away from the Wonder Vamp Duo and the Brothers Giganticus, I found myself fighting the urge to scream.

Focus, Sookie. Focus.

"_Later_!" I snapped. Then, remembering the manners my gran taught me, I smiled. "We'll see y'all in a bit."

Yanking on Eric's hand, I was relieved when he allowed me to pull him out of the casino. Looking over my shoulder, I glared at him, trying to convey without words just what I was thinking. I doubted he got all of it but, seeing his smirk, I was fairly certain he got the gist, thanks to the Sookie Channel. My thoughts were actually pretty straightforward and went something like this:

"You've got to be kidding."

"We have more important things we need to deal with."

"You can pee on my leg later."

I continued to give Eric a dirty look, hoping to wipe that self-satisfied smirk from his face. But nope he just kept smirking at me.

* * *

**AN: Yeah, so I so don't trust my muse. I have never understood Alcide's appeal. NEVER. I can handle writing Quinn but it is incredibly difficult writing Alcide. Who thinks Bill is showing up? Hadley? Any new theories on the Big Bad? Wonder where the Nevada vamps are? Yvetta is still MIA. Anyone think Debbie will cause trouble? Should Sook take the concierge job? Should Amelia move to Shreveport? Should Chow enroll in a photography class? LMAO. **

**Thanks to Northwoman for a Big Canon Assist. Without her these final chappies might not have happened! *round of applause for Northwoman***

**More: Blah blah Kill Bill GiggleSnort blah. Please vote.**

**More: Blah blah Snarky Sidekick Contest blah. Please write a Pam fic.**


	31. Showtime

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious**

* * *

Eric basically let me drag him out of the casino. Once we'd made it past the security guards and were back in the hotel lobby, we came to an abrupt stop; I realized I didn't know where we should go next. We could, of course, go upstairs to Eric's private suite but that seemed a bit too far; there was a lot going on that we needed to keep an eye on. On the other hand, if we stayed too near the gala, I was afraid the wrong person or supe would overhear us. Eric, recognizing my hesitation for what it was, took charge.

"Come," he said. Without another word I followed him to a nondescript doorway by the parking garage entrance (close to the spot where Frannie Quinn had witnessed Yvetta the Dancing Witch put the whammy on Rafe Prudhomme, the florist). Pulling a security badge from his pocket, Eric unlocked the door. We found ourselves in an empty employee-only corridor.

"This hallway is closed to staff because of the casino event. We will be able to talk privately here." He peered down at me, his blue eyes locked firmly on mine. "I feared someone would hear us if we stayed near the gala."

"Yeah," I nodded. "I had the same thought." I let out a sigh. Unfortunately, for the umpteenth time that day, I found myself with questions that needed to be asked—questions I was certain had answers I wouldn't like hearing. Steeling myself, I forced myself to ask the questions quickly, before I had a chance to lose my nerve. "Eric, what was that all about? Between you and the Queen? Please? I need to know."

Eric studied me, a thoughtful look on his handsome face. Finally, raising a hand to my cheek, he replied. "I'm concerned that the queen has such an interest in you."

"That makes two of us!" Not enough of an answer. "But why? Why does she care about me at all?"

Eric's lips curved in a wry smile. "Sookie, you still don't get it." Though his tone was mostly patient, I could tell Eric was mildly frustrated with me; when next he spoke, I thought it sounded a bit like he was attempting to reason with a child. Mildly piqued, I fought back my wave of irritation; if there was one thing we didn't have time for, it was an argument. "You are a telepath. Do you not realize how unique you are? Were you the type to embrace such activities, you could easily use your gift in a million different ways to pursue illicit financial gain."

Oh, hell. If I ever did decide to "_pursue illicit financial gain,_" maybe I'd get my hands on lots and lots of money. If I had lots of money, maybe I'd be able to keep myself—and those I cared about— safe.

How?

I could run away.

But running away had never appealed to me. What would the quality of my life be, if I were living a lie? Living with one eye looking over my shoulder? Living on the run or even just living with one foot out the door, ready to run?

That life sounded difficult and lonely.

As challenging as I found living in Bon Temps at times, it was my home. My history was there. My family's history was there. Everything I knew was there.

Everyone I'd ever loved—good or bad—was in Louisiana. With that thought in mind, I brought my attention back to Eric who was looking at me expectantly.

"Sorry, I'm listening."

"In any event, Sookie, while I am concerned Sophie-Anne is intrigued by you, what I find more alarming is the fact that she is not making any effort to conceal her interest."

Why would she not care about concealing it?

"You think she's gonna do something? Make a move?"

"I know she is," he replied, one eyebrow going up in emphasis. "In fact, I believe she already has," he snorted, emitting a decidedly unamused chuckle.

"She has?"

"Yes. She wants you. You're _her_ telepath."

"But…"

"Sophie-Anne is my queen. Technically what is mine—aside from my personal wealth—is hers. Anyone in my retinue—"

"Including me," I interjected sadly.

"Including you" he nodded, "is fair game."

This was not good. As devastated as I'd been over Bill's betrayal, really it was my cousin Hadley who'd sold me down the river. For the first time ever, I felt relief that Gran wasn't around. Knowing what Hadley had done to me —to gain favor with the queen —would have devastated Gran; in fact, I wondered that it might've killed my grandmother to see me taken away because of Hadley.

Did I really just think that? _'Taken away_?' I swallowed the lump of fear that had caught in my throat.

"What's going to happen to me?" I couldn't prevent a traitorous tear from rolling down my cheek.

"First, Sookie..." Eric caressed my cheek with his fingers and brought the tear up to his mouth. He then placed a hand on either cheek. "Don't cry; it's not going to happen. I won't let it. Okay?" Silently I nodded; I reminded myself to breathe. "She likely wants you to move to New Orleans, to work directly for her. As for what she would have you do —" Eric shrugged. "She has many business holdings. A telepath would come in handy in any number of ways. As I was saying before—your skill could be used for illicit financial gain. I would never ask you to do something of that nature—"

"You think she would?"

"I've known Sophie-Anne many years. I've always regarded her as moral. Relatively speaking, of course…" A sardonic grin played at his lips.

I knew I would've found Eric's qualifier amusing at some other time, but not then. Then I was left only with a cold feeling. I didn't say a word.

"Sophie-Anne is one thing. Personally, I've never cared for Andre and he seems to have assumed more powers and authority in recent years."

Andre. Sophie-Anne. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head.

"Eric, do you think Sophie-Anne might be behind the plot? We've been thinking that she was the target but what if she suspected you knew about me and she's doing it to discredit you?" Or kill you? I brought my hands up to his.

"Interesting theory." Eric seemed to consider it, finally dismissing it. Lowering both hands from my face, he took one of my hands in his own. "Frankly, if Sophie-Anne were looking to discredit me, she could do more with less. If she's behind this, the objective is bigger than just to get at me and—to be honest—right now, I can't see what that might be. Hurting Area Five hurts her as well. She only found out tonight that I know about you. Of that I'm certain. Besides, she's here, too. Unless she runs out of here at some point between now and when the bombs are supposed to go off, it doesn't seem likely that she's involved."

Okay, not Sophie-Anne. So much for that theory.

"Sookie…" My ears perked at the inflection in Eric's voice. Uh-oh.

"What?"

"Did you hear me tell them you and I were bonded?"

"Yes, I heard that." How could I have missed that?

"Do you understand what that means?"

"I hoped it meant we were pre-qualified for bidding on government-sponsored contracts." I said dryly; I knew that couldn't be it but a girl could dream, couldn't she?

Eric stared at me his face blank for a brief moment before his lips cracked into a grin. Relieved—and grateful for a moment of levity—I returned his smile.

"You've learned quite a bit in your stint at the hotel, haven't you?"

Still grinning, I shrugged. I was proud that I'd learned new stuff, even if it was just the boring clauses businesses have to include in service contracts. Without warning, suddenly I was engulfed in Eric's strong, firm embrace. A sense of calm and safety washed over me; burying my face in Eric's chest, I breathed him in.

"For us to be bonded means we've exchanged blood," he said. "I don't have time to explain it fully right now, but technically what I said to them was true. You and I have had each other's blood; we've just never exchanged at the same time."

Oh.

"We need to do a blood exchange."

"_Now_?" Puzzled, I just stared at him. I desperately wanted him to say "Gotcha" or something else to let me know he was joking. He didn't. He just looked at me. He wasn't kidding. I let out a breath. "You're serious...?"

"Very."

"But if you already told them—"

"I doubt they believed me. They will likely want proof. They may even want to test us."

"So you're saying we need to do a blood exchange? Now? Here?"

"Yes," he nodded. I could see his eyes were apologetic. He didn't want to do this any more than I did. "I don't want to risk them taking you away."

Ouch. There were those words again. 'Taking away.' I didn't want that either.

"Is this the only way?"

He nodded.

"Okay," I said finally. "How do you want to do this?"

I knew by the look on his face that I'd said the wrong thing. Grinning, Eric leaned in close to me and blew a gentle breath into my ear. Light as a feather, it packed a wallop, sending a shiver down my spine. Not in a bad way.

"Lover, I could tell you exactly how I want to do this—believe me I could be very graphic and descriptive and I'd enjoy every second I put a blush on your cheeks. But I'm afraid we don't have time and this isn't really the place for that type of activity."

God, if I didn't die from an explosion that night, I just might implode due to my own hormones. I told myself to chill. There were so many reasons not to get worked up: bomb threats, the queen's plot, Bill and Hadley's betrayals, the looming Big Bad, not to mention my suspicion about Eric, which ought to have me seriously upset.

"Okay, so not how you _want_ to do it, but how are we _gonna_ do it?"

"Come here." I followed Eric down the corridor to a door. He pulled the keycard out of his wallet again and let us inside what was, I saw, a small mop room. Glancing down he seemed to confirm that the floor was clean before sliding down to sit against the door. "Now you." He gestured to his lap.

I followed suit and settled myself down on his lap. I figured we'd do wrists again—I'd fed from his wrist when he'd healed me in Jackson and he'd fed from mine when Mark Stonebrook had attacked him. My theory was proven correct by Eric's next words.

"Take off the corsage."

I did as he instructed. Remembering our experience in Jackson, my mind zeroed in on a potential problem.

"Are you gonna be able to give me blood without…you know…?"

"Without what?" Eric looked at me with a knowing smirk. He knew exactly what I meant by 'you know'.

"_You know_!" I felt my cheeks become flushed.

"Hmmm, I really don't. Perhaps you could enlighten me…?"

I rolled my eyes. "_You know_? In your _pants_?"

"Oh!" he chuckled. "_That_. I've developed better control since Jackson."

"Oh yeah?" I retorted. "How? Did you order something over the internet?"

Eric stared at me silently for a second before erupting in laughter and pulling me tightly to him. As he held me close, he laid a kiss on my temple; at the deep rumbling of his laughter, I felt my heart lighten.

"That, my lover, is why you are not permitted to leave me."

Curious, I twisted my head around to look at him. "What? Why?"

"You are much too amusing to give up."

"You too," I replied without thinking. "I mean…" Embarrassed again, my face was getting even hotter. I didn't know what I meant. Did I just tell Eric I didn't want to give him up? Did he just tell me he didn't want to give me up?

What the hell were we both talking about?

Before I registered what was going on, his lips were on mine, soft and cool, and demanding. Knowing we didn't have time for this, I struggled to keep my mouth closed; I struggled in vain. Eric was insistent, in short time his wayward tongue had pried open my lips and invaded my mouth—my now-welcoming mouth. His cool tongue played with my warm one; at his touch, I couldn't prevent a tinge of excitement from coursing through my body. Quickly falling down the rabbit hole of lust Eric seemed to draw me down into, time and time again, for a moment all the worries of the night fell away and all that existed were he and I. Finally, sensing my growing need to breathe, Eric pulled away. Suddenly his lips were traveling downward along my neck, grazing my pulse point. Breathing heavily in loud rasps, I gasped at the touch.

"Are you ready, my Sookie?"

I was ready for something, though I wasn't sure it was this. "No! Wait!"

"There's no time for delay, Sookie." Eric's voice was wary; he knew I wasn't thrilled with this bonding business. Oh, yeah. Sookie Channel updates.

"How will this change things? The Sookie Channel?"

Staring off into the distance, Eric seemed to give his answer consideration before replying. "I don't know exactly. It may be barely noticeable. It may be very noticeable. It's been a very long time since I've done it. You're the first human I've shared blood with since I turned Pam two centuries ago."

That was a head-scratcher. And a slightly worrisome one at that. "But you're not turning me, right? That's not something I'm agreeing to. I don't care how good a vampire you think I'd make."

Eric swung his head around so our eyes met. "I agree."

Eric lifted my now-bare wrist up to his lips. He laid a gentle kiss on my vein before biting. While it stung at first, I quickly became aware of much more pleasurable sensations. Already drawn tighter than a wire, I instinctively ground my backside down into Eric's lap a few times before he stilled me with his free hand. I felt more than heard him groan deep inside, his teeth still buried into my flesh. Done, he retracted his fangs, spread the coagulant on my wrist and kissed my wrist again, and briefly lowered his forehead down to my palm. I knew he didn't need to breathe but it looked like he was catching his breath.

"You okay?" I asked.

He shuddered. "I may need to continue searching the internet for a new remedy."

Horrified, I made a face at him. "No! You didn't! But I didn't feel anything." I started to hoist myself up from Eric's lap.

"Not so fast, my dear," he chuckled evilly. "You're not going anywhere. Your turn."

"My dress…"

"I said may. Your dress is safe." He smirked in my direction. "You might want to refrain from grinding that lovely derrière of yours into my lap, however. You," he paused for emphasis, "challenge my restraint."

Ah.

Eric shifted me on his lap; biting into his wrist, he then brought his bleeding wrist up to my mouth.

"Remember," he whispered into my ear. "No gyrating." Shamed by my previous behavior, I nodded silently and proceeded to suck on the two puncture wounds on his wrist. Awash in guilty feelings, I was extra careful not to move as I sat on his lap. I took a few more pulls and, noticing Eric's wrist was healing, stopped.

Done, we just sat back for a brief spell. I leaned comfortably against Eric's broad chest.

"Do you feel anything different?" I asked.

"My ability to track you is slightly heightened. The Sookie Channel," he raised an eyebrow, "already had a good signal. It doesn't seem that different on my end. You?"

"I don't know. Yes. No." I thought about it and decided it was hard to explain. "I don't think it's different but I do think I'm noticing it more so it must be 'cause it's stronger. It's like I can sense you humming in the background."

"Humming?" Eric, amused, smiled at me. "What am I humming, my Sookie? Am I in tune?" He pursed his lips into my shoulder and hummed; it sent a jolt of heat down to my girl parts.

Was he in tune? Oh God, yes! Focus, Sookie. Focus. "Not literally," I laughed, twisting to look at him—and dislodge his lips from my shoulder. "Figuratively."

I shook my head, still laughing. I couldn't help but think sometimes that he had way too much _joie de vie_ for a dead guy.

After a few minutes, Eric and I rose to our feet.

"Guess it's time for us to go back." I observed, my apprehension clearly evident in my voice; Eric didn't need the Sookie Channel to know returning to the gala was the last thing in the world I wanted to do.

"Yes," he agreed. "We still need to figure out who's behind the explosives. Nothing happens until the official program begins at nine. Correct?"

"Yep," I said. "Quinn's the emcee and he'll be introducing everyone. You're the fourth speaker and you introduce Sophie-Anne."

"Yes and Sophie-Anne cuts the ribbon and then pulls the slot machine lever."

"What? What slot machine?" Startled, my words came out sharper than I'd intended. "That's not part of the program. The queen's supposed to cut a ribbon, not pull a slot machine."

"But it's on the program." Eric removed a folded up paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. Looking at the program, I frowned.

"This is different from the program that was given out at the meeting. I mean—it doesn't sound like a big deal but I don't understand why they would've changed it at the last minute like that." My eyes shot up to Eric's. "Where'd you get this?"

"It was on the table reserved for the Queen's party."

"Right," I nodded, thinking. "Well we need to find out if the program really changed or not. If it didn't, we need to find out who put these fake programs on the Queen's table." If the slot machine pull wasn't really a part of the program, then someone else wanted the Queen to pull the lever. That, I was thinking, couldn't be good.

"We need to get back."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I'll go find Quinn and find out if the Queen is really supposed to pull the slot machine."

"Pulling the slot machine might've been to trigger the explosion."

Silently I nodded; we seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"I'll speak with Donati. Let him know what's going on." Eric fell silent, obviously deep in thought. "That may well be the point where we have Donati announce that no one is to leave the hotel. Right as Sophie-Anne is being introduced."

"Or you could just make the announcement? Before you introduce the Queen?" I suggested.

"Yes, I could do that. Okay, back we go. You speak to the tiger. I'll talk to Donati. We continue to observe. Ready?"

Not on your life. Ha ha. "Yes."

Eric's eyes held a glint of excitement. It wasn't lost on me that a part of him was genuinely enjoying himself. Being a Viking must've provided a regular dose of adrenalin. Being a small business owner in Northern Louisiana or even an immortal in Northern Louisiana was probably a little dull in comparison.

Opening the door, he paused long enough to bend down and give me a brief-yet-toe-curling kiss that left me breathless.

"What was that for?" I asked once I could breathe again.

"Showtime," he smiled, his blue eyes shining bright.

Oh, yeah. Eric was excited, while I was terrified. But then I noticed I felt a spark of excitement too. I wasn't sure where that feeling was coming from but I knew I didn't have time to think about it.

It was showtime after all.

* * *

**AN: Hmm. Does it seem to anyone else that there's too many loose threads for me to tie up in only three chapters? Oh, well. Please review.**


	32. The Events Coordinator

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious**

* * *

Within minutes Eric and I were back in the casino. We quickly went our separate ways as I took off to go question Quinn about the mystery slot machine pull, while Eric went off in search of Donati.

Quinn's eyes widened as I approached him. To his credit, he took my appearance in stride.

"Michele." It occurred to me that telling Quinn my real name at that point was likely the right thing to do. Of course, on the other hand, I was fairly certain it would increase the level of discomfort for all involved, thus making it contrary to my grandmother's all-purpose rule of etiquette ("Do what will make everyone most comfortable.")

Dammit. Why was nothing ever easy?

"Quinn." I gave him a tentative smile.

He regarded me, contemplatively, before speaking. "I guess I like you better as a blonde and without the glasses but I've got to admit I got used to seeing you as a redhead. Which one is natural?"

I fought the urge to snicker as I played with a few strands from my My-Very-Own-Hair wig. "This is my real hair." I figured that was accurate enough.

Quinn, his eyes focused intently on me, fell silent. Seeing him suddenly look past me, I turned to glance over my shoulder to see what had him so transfixed. I wasn't surprised to realize Eric was the object of Quinn's scrutiny.

"So," Quinn nodded. "Beyond the hair, a few things seem to have changed."

It was my turn to be bewildered. "Sorry?"

"You told me you weren't Eric's."

Oh. _That_. I turned back to look at Eric standing with Chow, Maxwell, and Thalia. Meeting his eyes, I spotted a ghost of a smile playing at his lips as he returned my gaze. I turned back to Quinn.

"Um, Quinn, my relationship with Eric isn't what I'm here to talk about." I thrust the program into his hands. "Somebody put this program on the Louisiana table. Why does it include a demonstration slot machine pull? Was that added after the meeting? And which machine is it? Eric asked me and I certainly don't know a thing about it."

Quinn inspected the program and frowned. "I don't know anything about this," he said after a moment. Glancing up, his eyes met mine.

"Okay," I nodded. "If you don't know about it and I don't know about it, then the one thing we do know is that it can't happen." I turned around to look at the stage. While there were several slot machines in the vicinity of the stage, only one was positioned a few steps from the stage. It seemed a reasonable assumption that Sophie-Anne would walk over to that one and pull the lever.

"The programs are identical," observed Quinn.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"What I mean is we had special cardstock made up for the programs. There's a watermark on here with Sophie-Anne's royal seal. This is the real deal." Quinn, holding the program up in the light, pointed out the watermark.

Seeing it, I realized immediately what it meant. Quinn, too, knew what it meant. It was an inside job.

"Who was responsible for the programs?" I asked quietly.

Unhappy with this turn of events, the regret weighed heavily in Quinn's voice as he answered. "Jake." When next his eyes met mine, the pain they held was obvious. "Jake Purifoy."

I sucked in a breath. Not really a surprise. "Where is he?"

Quinn was already scanning the room. "He should be here, but I don't see him."

I did a visual scan of the room too. (I knew I might need to listen in at some point but I definitely wanted to conserve my mental energy until it was needed.) Looking around, I took note of all the guests.

I saw my brother, his were-ferret girlfriend, and Sam sitting at a table, nursing drinks. Sam caught my eye and raised his glass in silent toast. I smiled but he didn't return my smile. Despite whatever approval Sam might've expressed about Eric taking good care of me a couple of days ago, he certainly didn't seem to like the idea of Eric and I actually being a couple, which was certainly the impression conveyed by our appearance.

My friend Tara was at the gala with her date, a vampire named Franklin Mott. She was one more person I'd have to keep an eye on. Since Sam knew Tara, I was certain he'd grab her if/when something happened. I accidentally met Tara's eye and she waved me over, like she'd done so many times at Merlottes'. I nodded, gesturing I'd visit her table if I had a chance.

Having spent a few minutes earlier in the week doing online research, I recognized the vampires visiting with the Louisiana vamps as the Arkansas party. Peter Threadgill, with glacial grey eyes and a face full of sharp angles: a nose like a blade, thin straight lips, high cheekbones, stood talking with Sophie-Anne. Jennifer Catar, with hot hazel eyes, straight light brown hair, and a look that could best be described as lean and mean was conversing with Andre. Their conversations seemed friendly enough; just the same I was pleased as punch that I wasn't privy to it.

Standing slightly off to the side stood Jade Flower. Dressed all in red—slacks, T-shirt, Converses—her preference was unfortunate since red was most definitely _not_ her color. She was Asian, and I thought she likely hailed from Vietnam—though it had probably been called something else then. Her chin-length hair looked as though she had cut it herself using a pair of rusty scissors. Her face was the unenhanced one God had given her.

Henrik Feith was a rather slight vampire with short brown hair and an equally short beard. He looked like an ordinary guy until you got a closer look at his eyes and realized he was some kind of lunatic.

Speaking of lunatics, my one-time crush, Alcide Herveaux, was sitting with his murderous girlfriend, Despicable Debbie, his father, and several other people I didn't recognize. I noted that all of the folks at the table were Weres with the exception of Debbie who was either a werefox or a werelynx. I could never recall which one it was and it never seemed worth the effort of finding out.

Pam, I saw, was mingling with Amelia Broadway, Tray Dawson, Copley Carmichael, and Tyrese Marley. I was actually tempted to drop my shields just so I could find out what old Cope thought of not only Tray—his daughter's current date—but also Pam, his daughter's past date. Actually, going by the look on Carmichael's face, I reconsidered; maybe it was best not to know.

Rousing myself from my perusal of the casino, I focused on the matter at hand and brought my attention back to Quinn.

"Quinn, we have to find Jake. And we have to make sure the Queen doesn't pull the slot machine. Do you think you could go speak with her?" Better him than me. "I'll let Donati know to be on the lookout for Jake."

I spied the security director by the main entrance. I figured I needed to let Eric know too, but since Donati was closer, I decided to speak with him first.

"Sure thing, babe. Will do." I frowned, wondering if he insisted on calling me 'babe' ninety percent of the time _anyway_, did it even matter if he knew my real name?

"Oh, Quinn?"

"Yeah?" He gave me a look over his shoulder. Dressed in a tuxedo, I allowed myself a second to appreciate how good the E(E)E head man looked cleaned up.

"When you speak to Sophie-Anne, make sure nobody hears you." I attempted to convey my message so that my meaning was clear. No vampires.

Quinn nodded. "Good thinking. You're sharp, Michele." He grinned. "Even minus the glasses and with the blond hair and the vamp boyfriend."

Talk about your backhanded compliments. "Thanks, Quinn."

Turning to make my way to Todd Donati, my eyes fell upon Eric who was now standing with the Dallas vamps and—to my utter amazement—Barry Bellboy! After a moment's hesitation, I decided to try talking to Barry. Given the number of other folks in the room, I knew zeroing in on him would be tricky. He, like me, probably had his shields up. But, on the other hand, he was a telepath too, so he'd hear me calling him.

_Hey Barry_, I said silently.

Barry, startled, looked up. I saw him glance around the room looking for me. He smiled when he spotted me. _Sookie! How are you_?

_Good, good. Nice to see you in Louisiana. You work for the Dallas vamps now?_

_Yeah, I work for the King of Texas, Stan Davis. He's right here_, he said.

_Yeah, I've met Stan. What's going on over there, anyway? He's got one of my vamps._

_I thought I recognized him from the Silent Shore. Stan's grilling him about masquerading as someone else during a visit to Dallas._

_No shit!_ I said.

_No shit,_ replied Barry.

Glancing around for Chow, I wondered if he had his camera. Stan Davis calling Eric out on his fake "Leif" persona was actually something I'd love to have on film. Spotting Chow, I realized he was unfortunately camera-free for the evening. Oh well.

_Barry, I gotta go. Keep your eyes open tonight_.

_Something going down_?

_Hopefully not but follow instructions, okay? Make sure your vamps follow suit_.

_Never a dull moment with you_, he said.

If Barry's life with the Dallas vamps was "dull," maybe I needed to consider moving to Texas.

Barry and I exchanged goodbye nods.

Spotting Todd Donati, I made my way over to the security director.

"Hey, Todd," I greeted him.

After a brief pause, he returned my smile. "I know you've got another name but I'm only remembering Michele right now."

"That's fine," I shrugged, a little embarrassed. "Um, we need to find Jake Purifoy." Looking around me, I didn't see any vampires in our immediate vicinity and the music was playing, but I didn't want to take the chance of saying too much.

"He was here earlier," Donati glanced around the casino before turned back to face me. "Let me ask you this: We looking for Jake in the same we were looking for the hotel manager?"

Hotel manager? Marnie! Yes.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Exactly!"

"Got it." I watched as Donati pulled out his Blackberry. "I'll let my men know. We'll check the security tapes, too."

"Thank you."

"Thank you…your name again?"

"Sookie."

"Sookie." Nodding, he gave me a wry smile.

I started to walk away but paused, realizing there was still a question that needed answering. "By the way, did the Las Vegas party ever show? They RSVPd yes but last time I checked they hadn't registered."

Donati's eyes met mine. "Nope. Never did. And before you ask—I'm on door duty. My men have orders to get me before letting anyone else inside the casino."

I nodded. "All right." I smiled. "Thank you."

Leaving Donati, I turned around and saw that Eric had finally been released by Stan Davis and was back with the Area Five vamps. I made it halfway across the floor when my trek was rudely interrupted.

"Hey bitch, remember me?"

I rolled my eyes. How could she possibly think I'd forget _her_? She—with a hairstyle that was the envy of show dogs in kennel clubs all across America. While I didn't think it was possible for me to dislike her any more than I already did, her impeccably bad timing succeeded in doing just that.

"Debbie Pelt, what the hell do you want?"

"I saw you hitting on Alcide before."

"Yeah?" Incredible. Thanks a lot, Alcide. I glanced around looking for him—hoping he could call off his bitch—but of course he was nowhere to be found. "Alcide came over to say hello. I'm the hotel's events coordinator. I helped organize this gala and I'm being paid to look after y'all."

"Being a fangbanger not paying enough, bitch?"

"Well, isn't that the bitch calling the kettle black?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Honestly, now that I think of it, I'm not sure they pay me enough to look after _all_ of _you_." I grimaced as I let my eyes travel up to her hair. "Especially _you_."

Being well-acquainted with Debbie's slimy underhanded style, I was ready to duck as I saw her hand rear up to punch me. But a hand caught her fist before she had an opportunity to slam that fist into my face.

Pam, standing there with Debbie's fist captured in her iron grasp, was practically gleeful. "Tell me again how you're not a trouble magnet, Sookie," she smirked.

I rolled my eyes. "Not the time, Pam. I've got to talk to Eric. _We_ have to talk to Eric."

"What should I do with the were-bitch?"

Debbie's face was contorted with rage as she struggled to free herself from Pam's hold.

"Oh, just let her go, Pam. We have bigger fish to fry. With better haircuts," I snarled at Debbie.

Pam smiled. "Agreed."

Pam and I rushed over to where Eric had just joined the Queen and Andre. They stopped talking as we intruded, so I assumed they were talking about me. I reminded myself now wasn't the time to think about _that_.

"Excuse me, your Majesty," I said as I curtsied in my vague American fashion. "Eric, Pam and I need to discuss a security matter with you."

"Is this related to the matter that Quinn informed me of?" asked Sophie-Anne.

Startled, I could only nod. Although it had been only about fifteen minutes, I'd already forgotten that I'd sent Quinn over to explain about the program error and the fact that the Queen was not to pull any levers. Sophie-Anne nodded imperiously that Eric was free to go.

Soon after, Eric, Pam, and I were standing in the small windowless mop room off the staff-only corridor.

Pam was giving the room a thorough once-over. "I could sleep here in a pinch," she drawled.

I just looked at her. "Why would you ever have to?"

Pam shrugged. "You never know. It's good to be prepared. FEMA sent out a brochure on vamps being ready for a disaster."

Oh.

"Never mind that, Pam," Eric turned to face me. "What have you learned?"

"Well, pulling the slot machine lever is not and never was a part of the night's program. Jake Purifoy was responsible for getting the programs made up."

"Ah," he nodded. "So the lever was, then, to trigger the explosion."

"Yeah," I agreed. "And now he's missing. I spoke to Donati so he knows we need to find him."

"What did you tell Donati?"

"I told him it was the same as the situation with Marnie."

"Shoot to kill and shove something in his mouth?" Eric teased.

I rolled my eyes. "Something like that," I muttered. I knew _that_ would come back to haunt me.

"Since we know that was to be the trigger, we no longer need to call for a lockdown," Eric commented.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Jake and whoever else is involved will probably be edging towards the door when Sophie-Anne is being introduced."

"What do you mean?" asked Pam.

"We know that the slot machine lever being pulled was to set off the explosion," Eric said. "Whoever knows about the plot will try to get out of the casino before Sophie-Anne approaches the machine."

Oh, crap. I just realized something we'd overlooked: We needed to make sure _nobody_ pulled any levers, not just the Queen.

"Eric," I said thoughtfully. "Even if we don't need a lockdown, we still have to make sure _no one_ pulls any of the levers on the slot machines."

Eric raised an eyebrow at me, an unspoken question in his eyes.

"I mean we took care of the candles but we don't know if the lever was supposed to trigger something else, in addition to the candles. Better to be safe …"

"Than sorry." Eric finished my thought. Silently he nodded, his eyes fixed on mine. "How shall we do that? I can make an announcement. Perhaps say there is an electrical issue?"

"I think," I paused, considering the matter, as I whipped out my cell phone and hit a number. "We should tell the building engineer to cut the electricity to the machines."

"Hey, Chris. It's Michele, the events coordinator." I looked over at Eric and Pam, a satisfied smile on my face.

"Hey Michele," he replied. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm good but there's a concern that somebody might pull the levers on the slot machines…."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," I continued. "As a prank…"

"Well, that's not a big deal. I could cut the electric feed to the machines if they don't want anyone messing with them. The machines are on a separate circuit; it wouldn't affect anything else."

"That would be great if you could do that!"

"Sure thing, pretty lady. Just say when." Eric's eyes squinted at Chris's offhand compliment.

"Um, well," I glanced at the program I held in my hand. "We still have to get through the event schedule. There's a ceremonial lever pull, so we need them on for a while longer. We don't want the room dark. How about I send you a text when it's time?"

"Sounds good," said Chris.

"Great. Thanks."

Snapping my phone shut, I looked up to find Eric and Pam both staring at me; Eric's face held a mixture of surprise and pride, while Pam was very obviously amused.

"C'mon guys," I glanced between the two of them. "No need to look so shocked. This _has_ been my job for the past week. What did y'all think I was doing?" I knew technically it had only been a few days but they had been really _really_ long days. I figured with overtime I probably had worked at least 40 hours since Wednesday.

The two vampires gazed at one another. Finally Pam shrugged. "I'm not surprised, Sookie," she lifted her eyebrow, watching Eric as she spoke.

A short while later, the three of us were back in the casino.

I noticed Quinn, microphone in hand, walking over to the stage. Looking at my cell phone, I saw that it was nine o'clock, time for the program to start. I flipped open my phone and was about to send a text to Donati to ask if there was any new information about Jake Purifoy, when I noticed Mr. Purifoy clandestinely making his way to the front of the casino. As all eyes were focused on Quinn as the E(E)E head man introduced the mayor of Shreveport, my eyes were glued to Jake. I tapped Eric's arm, gesturing that I had to tell him something. He leaned down, bringing his ear to my lips.

"Jake Purifoy just came back. It looks like he's walking over to the Arkansas vamps."

"Arkansas?" Eric's eyes shot up and he quickly spied Jake stealthily making his way to the Arkansas vamps.

Taking a quick perusal I saw that all four of the Arkansas vamps were there: Threadgill, Catar, Jade Flower and Henrik. The Las Vegas vamps still hadn't shown up; apparently, it had been Arkansas all along.

After about ten minutes, the mayor wrapped up his speech. Quinn, returning to the stage, introduced the economic development official responsible for promoting Shreveport to Hollywood. As the woman spoke, Eric and I both continued to watch Purifoy, riveted to the Were's every move. Closing in on the Arkansas vamps, Jake finally backed away and positioned himself in a spot diagonally across from them.

I wasn't sure what we were looking for but I figured I'd recognize it when I saw it.

I was right.

I watched as Jake made a motion to adjust his tie, loosening it at the neck. Turning to watch the Arkansas vamps, I saw Threadgill, who had also been watching Jake, nod. It was nearly imperceptible but I definitely caught it. Glancing up at Eric, I saw his jaw tighten. He too had seen it and he took it to mean the same thing that I did; it was Jake's signal to the Arkansas vamps that it was time to leave.

I hit 'send' on my text message to the building engineer, Chris, instructing him to kill the electricity to the slot machines. I saw many of the gala attendees look around confused as the slot machines went dim; it was only those dead-set on listening to the speech or intent on sneaking out of the casino who failed to notice when the machines went dark.

Eric pulled out his cell phone and I assumed he texted Pam as I saw her jump to attention soon after. The two exchanged nods from across the room. Maxwell Lee was at Pam's side, while Chow and Thalia were each stationed by a casino entrance. Indira, stationed by the blood fountain, abandoned her post and went to joint Chow at the door. After a few seconds, I saw one of the twin giants from the Queen's party move to join Thalia at the other door.

Next up Quinn was introducing Eric. Amidst the applause, Eric nodded, a smile on his face, and started to make his way up to the stage. I clapped too, my too-wide Crazy Sookie smile plastered on my face. Eric paused after taking a step away from me to turn around and plant a kiss on my lips. I was about to ask him what the kiss was for when I realized I already knew.

"Showtime?"

Winking at me as he moved away, he nodded.

"Showtime."

* * *

**AN: OMG! Thanks for all the reviews! You guys rock! Don't worry about TDMOS Eric/Sook having angst. I'd **_**never**_** do that to them!**


	33. We're Gonna Have a Rumble!

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious**

* * *

Everyone's eyes were focused on Eric as he made his way across the casino floor. I can't say I blamed them. However, as I glanced around the casino, I could tell that the more observant members of the audience knew something was up.

At least that was how it seemed to me. While no one had, as of yet, revealed any weapons, the atmosphere was definitely a bit on the fangy side.

As I watched my date climb the stage steps and take the proffered microphone from Quinn, a harsh realization began to take shape in my mind: Eric and I had failed to cover all the bases. We had been so focused on discovering the identity of the bad guys, we'd overlooked one important thing: we hadn't made a plan for what we were going to _do_ once the bad guys' identity was known.

Although I knew it was pointless to lay blame, I figured the oversight was more Eric's fault than mine. I mean it would've been understandable that I, a human barmaid new to the world of vampire _hoedowns_, would just assume the guilty vamps would surrender and turn themselves in, right? Realizing they were out-vamped and over-powered, that would be the most reasonable, most logical thing to assume, wouldn't it?

I wasn't crazy for even thinking that possible, was I?

Clapping as I watched Eric take to the stage, I took note of several things.

First, not only did the Louisiana home team (Area Five and the New Orleans vamps) far outnumber the visiting Arkansas vampires, we also had Alcide and the Shreveport Were pack in the audience. Not that the Weres had an official allegiance to the Louisiana vamps, but they at least had more cause to ally with the Louisiana vamps than they did with the strange Arkansas vamps.

On the other hand, there were several wildcards. Also in attendance were the Dallas vamps (including the king, Stan Davis, who, for all I knew, was angry at Eric for playing identity games during our Dallas investigation) and my friend Tara's date, Franklin Mott, who had never exactly given me a warm fuzzy. I didn't even know where Franklin's permanent home was, as he seemed to travel regularly between Mississippi and Louisiana.

In addition, the Las Vegas vamps might still show up. Donati's men were good, but their guns fired neither silver bullets, nor mini-stakes. They could only do so much guarding the entrance, susceptible to glamour as they were. (I made a mental note to discuss with Donati the idea that we hire some Weres or shifters or even vamps for the security team. Maybe Tray Dawson? I didn't think Pam and Eric would take to the alternative: equipping the human guards with silver bullets or mini-stakes.)

As I mulled over the situation, in a moment of intuitive cognition, it suddenly became clear to me how the night was going to evolve.

The Arkansas vamps—outnumbered though they were—had absolutely no reason to go quietly.

That being the case, I expected that they would try to cause as much trouble and spill as much blood as they could.

A chill ran through me as that truth hit home.

Observing the vampires position themselves around the room, I knew I had to do _something_. I couldn't just sit back and allow innocent bystanders to get hurt. Even if, by some miracle, everything turned out okay, I didn't imagine Eric, Pam, and the rest of the Louisiana vamps would be happy at having to spend hours glamouring all the humans so they forgot what they'd witnessed.

I needed to do _something_ to get the hundred or so non-Supe guests out of the casino. And I needed to do it _fast_.

Eric, describing the hotel renovations as well as his excitement at being involved in Shreveport's burgeoning new entertainment industry, had little trouble holding the attention of most of the gala attendees. Dipping into some random brains, I knew the audience fell into three camps: (1) those genuinely interested in Shreveport's economic future (an unfortunate minority); (2) those who were helplessly enthralled by Eric (I despised this group on principle); and (3) those who knew something was going to go down and figured Eric was the one to watch (these were mostly the other Supes in the room).

As my eyes were glued to Eric, I saw his gaze travel around the room; I could tell he was keeping a close watch. When his eyes met mine, he gave me a significant look.

He, too, had realized our blunder.

Feeling that Eric had silently asked me to do something, I bit my lip; thinking, I ran though several options.

I could pretend to faint. Envisioning that unfolding of events, I was certain it wouldn't work. I'd get Sam, Jason, Tara and Amelia on me faster than green grass through a goose, but aside from them, I wasn't certain anyone else would pay any mind. If Eric were to jump from the stage, it might hasten the clash between the vamps; if the Arkansas vamps thought Eric was distracted, they might attack him, lickety split. Besides, why would that cause anyone to leave unless I was able to convince them all that there was something poisonous in the casino?

My next idea was that I could have a wardrobe malfunction. If one of "the girls" made a surprise appearance at the gala, that would definitely agitate Jason and excite a few others (Eric, Sam, Alcide, and possibly Pam). Again, I knew I'd have all eyes on me for a brief span of time, but I figured the room would recover quickly enough. Again, if Eric's attention were diverted, then the Arkansas vamps might take advantage of the situation. Besides, I doubted exposure to my breasts would be enough to drive anyone but the staunchest right-wing Republicans from the room.

Tearing my eyes away from Eric, I glanced around the casino, looking for an answer. Noticing the fire alarm on the east-facing wall, I realized I had found my answer; I knew what I needed to do to get the humans out of the casino before the vampires started fighting. Without another thought, I ran to the east wall and pulled the alarm.

As the alarm blared, I immediately second-guessed my action. There was nothing subtle about my Get-Out-of-Jail-Free Card. The sound of the shrill siren drowned out all the other noises in the casino, while red and orange lights flashed along the perimeter of the ceiling. I thanked God the sprinklers were heat-activated, not alarm-activated. As good a job as I'd done during my stint at the hotel, I was positive Christian, Pam, and even Eric would nix my staying on as the El Dorado's concierge if I were single-handedly responsible for ruining the multi-million dollar casino renovations. As it was, I couldn't help but snicker as I watched the casino devolve into a scene of absolute chaos: After working tirelessly for days to ensure the gala went off without a hitch, here it was coming apart at the seams because I had pulled the fire alarm.

Human guests, puzzled over the alarm, nervously started to make their way to the doors. The shifters and Weres, more knowledgeable in vampire ways, were slower to leave as they wanted to see what was going to happen.

Eric finally gave up on his speech, announcing into the microphone, "We seem to have a safety concern. If everyone would please exit the casino through the two sets of doors, the events coordinator will direct you where to go."

With that, Eric climbed down from the stage and hastily made his way over to where the King of Arkansas stood with his entourage. Pam, Chow, and company gradually filed back in towards the center of the casino.

In response to Eric's announcement, I stationed myself between the two sets of doors and did my best to reassure the departing guests that there was no danger.

"What the hell is going on?" Todd Donati was suddenly beside me, as perturbed as I'd ever seen him. "Was it _you_ who pulled the alarm?"

"Yeah," I confessed although a part of me felt like denying it. As for the _why_, I knew I had to tell Donati _something_. "There's gonna be a...a _rumble_." I had to talk really loudly so he could hear me; thankfully, nobody seemed to be paying attention to us anyway.

"_A rumble_?" I watched as a deep frown formed on Donati's face. "The vamps?"

"Yeah..." As I looked on, Donati shut his eyes, shook his head, and let out a loud sigh. For the first time, it occurred to me how awkward working full-time at the El Dorado would likely be.

Did I really think there'd never be another _rumble_? Given what I'd witnessed in the months I'd known the Shreveport vamps, it was far more likely there'd be something like this happening at least once a month.

As for my job as concierge, wasn't it far more likely that the bulk of my time would be spent delicately trying to explain weird supernatural stuff to Donati and other members of the staff, as opposed to assisting hotel guests make the most of their stay?

Oh, crap. I really needed to consider all the possible angles of my taking the job.

"Well, we're gonna have Shreveport police and fire here in a minute unless I get to them first," said Donati. He sounded pretty unhappy about it, too.

"No, that wouldn't be good," I replied, growing more comfortable apparently in my role as the Purveyor of Understatements. I turned to point more departing guests in the direction of the front doors. "Please walk. Don't run. Everything's gonna be okay."

Donati pulled out his Blackberry. "You want my men in here?"

"No, no," I replied. "Best to get everyone out." I thought about it. "Tell them to head out into the lobby and make sure everyone leaves."

"What about you?"

"Um, I'll come out as soon as all the humans are out."

He gave me a quizzical look at my choice of words. "You sure you'll be okay?" He raised his cell phone to his ear.

"I'll be fine," I assured him with a confidence I was far from feeling. As Donati walked away, I heard him explaining that the security alarm went off on account of an electrical short and that no police or fire responders were needed.

I prayed the 9-1-1 dispatcher bought Donati's excuse as we _really_ didn't need a bunch of first responders trying to get inside the casino.

As I stood between the two sets of doors, doing my best to calmly direct guests out of the casino, it occurred to me that I could use a little help. I called for the one person I knew would be able to hear me above the clamor.

_Barry, Barry_, I called.

I watched as Barry Bellboy's head darted around the room looking for me. His eyes finding mine, he grinned.

_Sookie, like I said before: never a dull moment with you around_.

_Ha ha. Very funny._

_What's going on?_

_It looks like we're gonna have a vamp rumble. Can you stand by the east door and make sure the humans leave?_

I saw Barry laughing silently as he made his way to the door.

_Yeah, I can do that. Who's 'rumbling'?_ He asked.

_Louisiana and Arkansas. Your folks have no cause to be involved._

_Stan's sweet on Pam._

_No shit!_

_No shit. Even if he's not involved, he'll probably want to watch her fight._

I rolled my eyes. Vamp mating rituals were just too weird.

With Barry stationed by the east door, I moved to the door closer to the west side of the casino. Before too long, I found myself encircled by Sam, Jason, and Tara.

"Sook, what the hell is goin' on?" My brother, never one to shy away from action, was glancing around the casino trying to detect the source of the alarm. "You didn't say there was gonna be excitement at your party!"

I almost felt the impact of my jaw hitting the floor. My brother was really too much.

"Jase, I told you like half a dozen times there were gonna be problems tonight!" Beyond frustrated, I practically growled at him; had he even heard what I'd said all those times I tried to talk him out of attending the gala? "What did you think I meant?"

My brother shrugged. "Dunno. Figured you meant it was gonna be kinda lame!" Incredulous, I just stared at my brother in wonder. Definitely not a Wheaties day for Jason.

Shaking my head clear of my brother's idiocy, I turned to Sam and Tara. "You three should go."

"Don't worry, Sook," said Sam, his voice held a quiet determination. "I'll get them out of here."

I shot a look of gratitude to Sam, before glancing at Tara, whose eyes, I saw, were filled with fear. "Honey, it'll be okay." I gave Tara a hug before turning back to look at Sam. "Sam, please. The sooner the better."

"What about Franklin?" asked Tara.

Was Tara actually worried about her date? Looking around, I quickly spotted Franklin standing with Eric and the Arkansas vamps in the midst of a heated discussion. I could tell from Eric's animated arm movements and furtive glances around the room, he was trying to postpone the inevitable until the casino was empty of non-vamps.

"Tara, he'll be fine. But you need to leave."

"Sookie, what about you? Come with us!" pleaded Tara.

"No, sweetie. I may be needed here."

The words sounded ridiculous even to my ears. Centuries old vampires were having a pissing match. Sookie Stackhouse, 26-year old barmaid/events liaison had to stay nearby in case she were needed.

That didn't sound too crazy, did it?

"Why would you be needed? Shouldn't everyone be getting out because of the fire?" asked Tara. Just then the sound of the alarm lowered by a few decibels.

I lowered my voice so no one nearby would hear my words. "There's no fire. We just needed to make sure everyone got out okay."

"But why? Why do you have to stay?"

Since I didn't have a ready answer for Tara on the first part of her question, I answered the second part. "I need to make sure all the non-vamps get out okay. I'll be fine."

"Sook, Tara's right. I don't like leaving you here by yourself." Sam's blue eyes were stubbornly fixed on me; if he had been a vampire, I'm sure he would've tried to glamour me into going with them.

"Sam, Eric's here. Pam's here. My friend Barry Bellboy is even here. I'll be fine but I need to stay a few minutes more and make sure everyone gets out."

"I still don't like it."

"Sam, please. I'll be able to do my job better if y'all were out of here," I hissed at him. I knew I was bordering on ungrateful, but I really needed them to leave. "Time spent trying to convince y'all to leave could be spent making sure others get out okay. You get me?"

"Yeah," nodded Sam, unhappy. "Dammit, Sookie. You know I hate you getting yourself involved in this vampire crap."

"I know Sam and I love you for it. But my life is still my own." _Last time I checked, anyway_ I added grimly to myself.

"Okay, okay. We'll get out of your hair." Out of nowhere, Sam smiled at me. "Why's it blonde again? Dye it back already?"

"No, it's a wig." I laughed, so relieved that they were going. "Now scoot."

Watching the three of them walk through the doors, it finally dawned on me that one of their troop was missing. "Whoa! Hold up. Jase, what happened to your date? Where's Crystal?"

"She went to the ladies room," he shrugged. "She's already out in the lobby."

Hopefully, that's where she was. I breathed a sigh of relief as I saw the three of them finally wander out into the lobby.

Turning back to face the casino, I scanned the room with both my eyes and my mental feelers; relieved, I could tell that most of the remaining folks were either vamps or two-natured. I saw Todd Donati standing outside the door Barry was standing next to. My cell phone, which I'd all but forgotten about but still had glued to my hand for the last hour, buzzed.

It was a message from Donati.

_Should we turn off the security cameras?_

I thought about it for a second.

_No. Just don't let anyone look at them._

I figured while the security staff would be better off not viewing the security footage, the vamps might need to watch it when all was said and done.

I nodded to Tyrese Marley and Copley Carmichael as they made a hasty exit out of the casino. Wondering where Amelia and Tray were, I was startled to see them talking with Alcide Herveaux, until I remembered Tray knew Alcide. Given the group's somber expressions, I could tell they were discussing something serious. I decided to dip into Amelia's brain.

Crap. We had party crashers.

Following their eyes, I saw the group they were watching; it was about seven or eight Weres. Not dressed for the gala, they must have snuck in after I instructed Donati to retreat and recall his men.

Crap. The thought crossed my mind again that we _really_ needed to hire Were security guards.

My mind focused on security concerns, I almost didn't catch the stray thought until it was too late.

_I'm gonna get you this time, bitch. _

* * *

**AN: Oh nos! Whoever could that be? Give you all one guess. This chapter of TDMOS has been brought to you by "Pam Eats Old White Men." I'm not kidding. I had to write my way out of my angstiness. **

**Reviews appreciated. They too help keep the angstiness at bay. Speaking of angstiness, TB and DR make me appreciate FF all the more. **


	34. Debbie Effin' Pelt! Again!

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious**

* * *

My mind focused on security concerns, I almost didn't catch the stray thought until it was too late.

_I'm gonna get you this time, bitch._

Plucking that thought out of a nearby brain, I instinctively dropped to the floor and crawled behind a row of slot machines. I heard something hit the door where I'd just been standing. Glancing around a slot machine I saw ugly blue shoes. Debbie Pelt was like a female supe terminator. Wondering what the hell she threw at me, I glanced up at the door. My eyes widened as they took in a hunting knife now embedded in the mahogany door.

Chilled, I realized the knife most definitely would've hit me, had I not dropped to the ground when I had.

Damn. This bitch was really out to kill me.

But she was not going to get that satisfaction.

I jumped to my feet and made a play for the knife. I hadn't a clue as to what was going on with the vamps. I just knew if Demented Debbie was looking to bring it on, I wasn't going to sit passively and wait for her. I yanked on the knife until I held it in my hands.

_Bitch_.

Boy, Debbie's habit of thinking hateful thoughts in my direction really seemed to work in my favor as it unerringly gave me a warning every time she attacked. Turning around, I held the knife out in front of me. Debbie paused in her advance on me about five feet away. Seeing the knife, she turned her hard eyes on me.

"Don't you look like a scared little girl, blondie," she sneered. "You sure you know how to use that?"

"Don't worry, I'm a quick learner." I held the knife protectively out in front of me. "You have messed with me for the last time."

"Harrumph," Debbie snorted. "Too bad that deader you fucked didn't just drain you."

I nearly gasped at the cruelty of her words but I was, thankfully, able to recover myself before letting her see she had succeeded in wounding me. I was always taken aback by the depth of Debbie's viciousness. I didn't understand how anyone could be that evil.

Holding the knife steady in front of me, I wondered if it were enough. Despite having killed Bill's maker, Lorena, and having defended myself repeatedly over the past year, I didn't regard myself as a violent person. Violence didn't come naturally to me, as it obviously did to Debbie. As I'd been raised to be a Christian, my mind more often than not classified violence as inherently wrong. But, I had to acknowledge special circumstances did exist. I'd killed Lorena for Bill's sake, as I'd loved him at the time. If I could kill a centuries-old vampire, I could certainly take down this nasty disposition were-bitch.

If I had to.

"Yeah," I said, my voice low. "I figured that was your plan locking me in the trunk with him."

"Yeah, well," she sighed. "A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

I almost rolled my eye at the decided lack of originality of her platitude. Just then, out of the corner of my eye, two things caught my attention.

First, I noted the kid gloves were off with the vampires. Eric, wielding a large sword, was locked in a battle with the red-clad Jade Flower. Tall and masterful, I nearly gasped at the sight of him. He'd shed his jacket; he held the sword like a swashbuckler from a lost era. Which, of course, was what he was.

Eric looked really good in black. Of course, I saw him in black all the time—he constantly wore t-shirts and jeans at Fangtasia. He didn't often dress up in a tuxedo like he had for the gala.

Okay, I really needed to be watching Debbie, not Eric. It was through sheer force of will that I pulled my eyes away from Eric.

The second thing I noticed was the fact that Alcide had broken away from the other Weres and seemed to have finally realized his psychotic girlfriend was missing. Why he didn't just keep her on a damn leash or throw a LoJack around her neck, I had no idea. I was, however, thrilled to see him seemingly looking around for Debbie.

I thanked my lucky stars when I saw Alcide start to wander in our direction. I wasn't sure he saw us, but I could only hope. Debbie, meanwhile, had turned into a real Chatty Cathy.

"I helped the Weres torture that boyfriend of yours," she said. "I was visiting a friend—one of the Were guards—who lives in Russell Edgington's compound." Her voice was as cold and matter-of-fact as her words. "Of course, I did feel bad when I realized he was the vamp Alcide was looking for to get his dad out of hock. But at the time, it was just vamp business. I didn't know. Why should I interfere?" She smiled. "It was fun. I liked the pincers."

I felt my mouth fall open. This bitch really was responsible for _everything_ that had happened to me. Shocked, I could only stare at her. Seeing movement directly behind her, I saw Alcide close in on his approach. I wondered if he'd heard any of what she'd said. Though he wasn't particularly close to us, I knew Weres and shifters had extra sensitive hearing, not as good as vamps but better than humans. A shifter, I wondered if Debbie sensed Alcide. If she were oblivious to him, I figured I could understand that; maybe she wasn't good at multi-tasking and all her attention was focused on killing me.

The knife securely in my hand, I reminded myself that I'd do whatever I needed to save my life; I would not hesitate to stab her if it came down to her or me.

Seeing that Alcide was coming closer, I tried unsuccessfully to catch his eye. Seeing that he wasn't in any hurry to reach us, it dawned on me that Alcide couldn't see past Debbie; so he didn't see the knife in my hand. He didn't realize Debbie and I were in the midst of a standoff. Knowing how dense Alcide could be when it came to Debbie, I figured he probably thought we were exchanging recipes or swapping hair styling secrets. (If Debbie really wanted to torture me, cutting my hair to look like hers certainly would be a good start.)

Despite Alcide's gaping blind spot when it came to all things Debbie, he did seem to be making his way us. Maybe he wanted to check up on Debbie.

Maybe it was time for her meds.

Personally, I thought it was a good time for a game of Truth or Consequences. Alcide needed to know once and for all what his Were-bitch was capable of.

"So, Debbie," I said loudly, "back to what you were saying…when Alcide came out to Jackson to help me find Bill, you knew where Bill was?"

"Well, like I said, I didn't know at the time that he was the vamp you were searching for…"

"So Bill was just a stranger? Some strange vamp your Were friends were torturing at Russell's?"

I saw Alcide's face freeze. That, Alcide, is why you should consider breaking up with Debbie.

Well, that and the fact that she seemed to be a sociopath.

"Had I known Bill's well-being was important to Alcide, I would've stopped it."

"Hmm, but since you didn't know that—and it was just some strange vamp—it was just a fun game to you. Torturing him, I mean? It must be confusing, keeping track of all the folks you help torture."

As oblivious as she was, the censure in my comment wasn't lost on her.

"You bitch," she snarled, a bitter laugh echoing from her throat. "I'll tell you this much: You're one I'm not gonna forget. I'm just gonna be sorry I only get to take care of you once!"

Geez, could she be melodramatic or what? Looking past the drama queen, I felt a moment's regret at the look of shock on Alcide's face. I had to remind myself that for some unfathomable reason, Alcide was in love with Debbie. I was grateful that—although the truth undoubtedly hurt—he finally had a clue about her. Unfortunately, taking my eyes off the were-bitch for that brief instant was a mistake as Debbie picked that moment to lunge at me.

"Argh!" she screamed as she violently threw herself at me. Her arms flailing wildly, she made a grab for the knife.

"No way, bitch," I replied. "You are _not_ getting this knife!"

Locked in a battle for the knife, Debbie pushed against the wall. Since Debbie was taller, I had to struggle to hold my left hand high above my head, keeping the knife safely out of Debbie's reach. With my right hand, I tried to hold Debbie off, my palm planted firmly in her (flat) chest.

Debbie, meanwhile, was using both hands to try to wrestle the knife away from me. For the first time, I was happy to be Telepath Barbie. Thank God Pam saw fit to dress me in four and a half inch heels as wearing them I stood nearly 6 feet tall.

Thank God Debbie felt like wearing her ugly flat shoes.

Despite the fact that Debbie shifted into some furry animal one night a month (as opposed to the she-devil she was the rest of the month), I was doing a fairly good job holding my own against her. That is, until she brought one hand down, and forming a fist, she sucker-punched me hard in the stomach. The wind knocked out of me, I doubled over, my hand holding the knife coming down low. As I bent over, grimacing in pain, Debbie was able to get close to the knife; I felt her fingers bent like claws trying to pry it out of my hands.

"Dammit!" she cried. "What the hell are you, anyway? Just give me the goddamn knife already!"

"Hell, no!" I replied. Feeling slightly better, I managed to level a solid kick at her, making contact with her chest, knocking her down.

"Really, Sookie," she chuckled. "You think you're a match for me? That's almost cute." Debbie brought her hands down from where they were trying to yank the knife out of my hands and slammed my head—hard—into the door.

Finally recovered from the sucker-punch, now I was seeing stars from the head slam. It took me a few seconds to regroup. Once I'd recovered, I stood, once more, with the knife thrust out in front of me.

"Listen, Debbie…" I started and then snorted; yeah, right, like _that_ was ever going to happen. "I am holding this knife and I am not afraid to use it. I'm real tired of your crap and I'd like it if you would just leave me the hell alone."

Did I really think leveling with this sociopath would work?

"What do you think I am? An idiot? I know you're just waiting to get your hands on Alcide."

Okay, this gal was _way too into_ Alcide. Granted, I liked the guy and he was hot as all get, but I'd yet to see _anything_ in him to warrant this level of obsession.

"No, I'm not, Debbie! I'm really not after Alcide! As a matter of fact, I'm seeing somebody! So I don't need your boyfriend. He's all yours!" _Although, I'd dearly appreciate him stepping in right about now, _I thought_._ I wondered where the hell Alcide had disappeared to. Alcide seemed to have an unfailing ability to vanish into thin air whenever I needed him.

"I don't believe you," Debbie spit back harshly. Dammit if she didn't lurch at me a second time, her hands bent like claws.

As Debbie dove into me, I did what I'd threatened to do all along; I lifted my right hand, holding the knife out protectively in front of me.

It was in that moment that Alcide—thank God!—_finally_ returned to the sight of his psychotic girlfriend attacking me.

Since Debbie was busy attacking me, her back was to Alcide; I had no way of knowing how much of his view of me was blocked by Debbie. He knew Debbie and I were fighting, but I wasn't sure Alcide knew there was a knife involved in our scuffle.

When Alcide jumped Debbie to take her down, I decided there was no way he could've seen the knife. As strong as he was, I knew Alcide would subdue Debbie without trying to do her real harm.

With the weight of Alcide's huge frame pushing Debbie into me and—more significantly—into my knife-wielding hand, I heard Debbie gasp.

Startled by the fact that I'd accidentally or on purpose just stabbed someone, I yanked my hand back to remove the knife from Debbie's stomach. Our bodies no longer connected, by flesh or metal, I watched, in shock, as Debbie fell at my feet.

My breaths were coming in loud staccato pants. As I looked up at Alcide, I saw that he was just staring at Debbie, his face expressionless, but for his green eyes. Debbie was obviously still alive, as she was coughing and sputtering up blood. Looking at Alcide, a friend of mine so clearly in pain, I tried to think what to say; but as usual my grandmother's advice had no easy place in my world.

Alcide finally brought his gaze up from Debbie's broken body and met my eyes. I noticed the man I'd pegged to be Alcide's father standing behind him, along with his date and another couple. Amelia Broadway and Tray Dawson stood behind the Weres. It oddly brought me a strange comfort to see Thalia's small form behind the Were, leaning over a pile of clothes. Thalia had taken down someone. I wondered vaguely if the vamps would attempt to glamour Amelia or if she got a free pass since she was part-supe.

Turning back to Alcide, a "Thank you" was all I managed before I fainted dead away.

* * *

**AN: Yeah, of course it was Debbie! She's a psychopath! The only one crazier than Debbie Pelt would be Sandra Pelt. Thank you so much for all the reviews and alerts and faves! I'm a little sad TDMOS is coming to a close—only one chapter left! But I'm so so so looking forward to getting back to Your Autumn Moon. I hope to see you there!**


	35. Tonight We'll Just Snuggle

**Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Charlaine Harris. Yvetta Not-A-Cardiologist belongs to Alan Ball.**

**SVM Timeline: Bill * nirvana * Machu Picchu * Peru * glorious**

* * *

Slowly opening my eyes, I tried to focus on the scene before me only to realize my vision was a bit blurred. Blinking several times, I was relieved when everything quickly came into focus. Staring up at the chandeliers on the ceiling, I turned my head and took note of the slot machine beside me; I was lying on the floor. Not only was I lying on the floor, but I was also lying on something –someone?—hard.

I should've been cold but a long tuxedo jacket had been laid over me; someone had even taken care to tuck it neatly underneath me to ensure it kept me covered. Thirsty, I licked my lips and noticed the slightly metallic taste in my mouth. Uh-oh. I recognized that taste. Suddenly my bed, blanket, and the aftertaste in my mouth all made sense.

"Eric?" I said hesitantly. As I spoke, I felt a pair of hands ghost along the sides of my hips and lock, under my jacket-blanket, around my waist.

"Yes, Sookie." Eric lowered his head and spoke directly into my ear. I fought back a shiver at the sensation his breath caused on my neck.

"How long have I been out?" It could've been minutes or it could've been hours. Though, since Eric was still around and didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave, I knew it wasn't near dawn.

"Not long. Maybe twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes! Are you serious?" Quick as a bear on honey—likely due to the multiple infusions of Eric's blood coursing through my veins—I shimmied my body away from Eric. Turning around, I looked—no, make that glared—at Eric. Unfazed, he responded with what was easily one of his most charming smiles.

"Sookie, the were-bitch pummeled your head into the door," he replied mildly. "You fainted. I feared you had a concussion."

"So you gave me your blood?"

"Yes."

"But I _had_ your blood earlier…"

"Yes, that's why I only gave you a little." Eric fell silent and I could tell he was hesitating. That worried me; what could Eric possibly have to tell me that he'd be concerned about my reaction? He'd already confessed to feeding me more of his blood. "I encouraged you to rest."

"You encouraged me to rest?" I repeated dumbly. It took me a few seconds to grasp what he was telling me. "You glamoured me."

Even I could hear the sadness in my voice; I didn't like losing control and being glamoured was the epitome of losing control. Disappointed in myself, I glanced down, avoiding Eric's gaze. My eyes followed my fingers which were nervously playing with a button on Eric's jacket.

"Obviously I had your cooperation," he reminded me gently.

I sighed. "Yeah, I know." Finally, I brought my eyes up to meet his. Eric had glamoured me in Jackson when I'd gotten hurt while trying to save Bill. Even though I wasn't susceptible to the glamour of unknown vampires, if I trusted a vampire and was willing, apparently I could be glamoured. Or maybe only Eric could glamour me because he was so old and powerful? I discerned an interesting experiment in my musings. Was there another vampire I trusted? One who wasn't as powerful as Eric? I kind of trusted Pam. Did I trust Pam to glamour me and not take advantage of me? Hmm…

"Sookie?" My head shot up at the sound of Eric saying my name.

"What?" My eyes locked onto his—impenetrable, sapphire blue, and glinting with desire.

"I'm wondering where you went off to?"_ In your eyes?_ Calm down, Sookie.

Confiding in Eric the true train of my thoughts—"Eric, I was just wondering if Pam would molest _the girls_ if I let her glamour me; what do you think?" –seemed to me to be _a really bad idea_. So, I thought maybe a subject change. Well, that ought to be easy; I wasn't really lacking for topics to choose from.

But the glamouring thing was still foremost on my mind. Although this was only the second time Eric had glamoured me—and he'd done it both times to help me get well after being hurt—I still wasn't happy about it. My telepathy was what set me apart from other humans; my non-glamourability was what distinguished me with the vamps.

Eric glamouring me—just because I had a little bump on my head—was uncalled for. It was excessive. It was an excessive step to take just for a tiny bump.

The more I dwelled on it, the angrier I became.

"You know you didn't have to glamour me, Eric."

As he shrugged, I thought I caught a look of embarrassment on his features.

"I regretted you were harmed. I…" He paused and I _definitely_ caught a look of embarrassment; why would Eric be embarrassed? "I had resolved to take better care of you this time and in the end, I was no better than the wolf—or Compton, who both abandoned you in their bloodlust."

Ah. I think I understood.

"But Eric, this wasn't like that." I brought a hand up to his cheek. "You didn't abandon me. You didn't know Debbie was going to come after me—"

"Yes, but I still should have taken more precautions with you. Pam—"

"Pam saved me earlier," I tried to reassure him. "And I saved myself the second time." With a little help from Alcide I silently reminded myself.

"Yes, you are remarkably," he snorted, "_resourceful_ when it comes to self-defense." Smiling, Eric fixed his steady gaze on me; I felt my heart skip a beat. As I watched, I swore I saw the light vanish from his eyes. I knew he was thinking about the Big Bad. Now, _that_ was a conversation we needed to have and soon. But I dearly hoped it could wait until tomorrow.

"You didn't whammy my memories," I observed teasingly, trying to lighten the mood. Contractions or no contractions, I definitely preferred Eric with the light in his eyes.

"No," he chuckled. "I didn't."

"How come?"

"How come I didn't _whammy_ your memories?"

"Yeah."

Eric pushed several strands of hair out of my eyes. Noticing the color, I realized I'd lost my wig at some point during the scuffle.

"My Sookie, even if I could—and I actually think there is a limit to your compliance—Why should I?" I could tell he was amused at the idea. "I enjoy…"

I hung on his words, waiting. "What, Eric? What do you enjoy?"

"If I glamoured you, how then could I tease you about stabbing the were-bitch with the help of her Were beau? How would I get you to accept your paycheck for your work this past week if you didn't remember all of it?" Eric shook his head, smiling. "Even immortal, I wonder sometimes that I spend too much time arguing with you."

"That's ridiculous," I scoffed. "Don't you dare listen to Pam. I am not argumentative; y'all are just not used to having real discussions with humans. You either use glamour, or you're dealing with people who are too enthralled and fearful of you, they just cower to your will."

Eric threw back his head and laughed. "You, my lover, are definitely not in my thrall, then."

I felt a blush spread across my face although I wasn't even sure why.

"Besides," he added, grinning, "what if I glamoured you and you no longer remembered what you told the were-bitch?"

Confused, I just looked at him. What did I say to Debbie that Eric would want me to remember? Oh…I felt my face flush again.

"How much of my fight with Debbie did you see?"

"Sadly nothing. I was too preoccupied with my own battle with Jade Flower."

"That's right!" As I turned my head to look around the casino, I realized I couldn't see anything from my vantage point, which was about two feet off the floor. Using Eric's shoulder as a brace, I leaned heavily on him as I stood up. Glancing around, I was surprised to realize that Eric and I were the only ones in the casino. "Eric, where is everybody? Are the Arkansas vamps all dead? What happened to Jake?"

"Which question do you want answered first?" Eric asked, as he followed my lead and gracefully rose to his feet.

"Any one of them would be good."

"Most everyone has left. Pam, Chow, and Thalia are standing guard outside the doors. We're waiting on the cleanup crew."

"Oh." There were vampire remains in several spots. Not to mention the blood where Debbie fell. "The Queen?"

"The Queen and her contingent have gone back to New Orleans."

"Did she say anything about me?"

"It's as we suspected."

"What do I need to do?"

"Nothing for the time being. We go with the flow as they say."

I bit back a snort of nervous laughter. Eric sure picked odd times to pull out the old axioms. "She doesn't want anything from me?"

"Not at present. She appears to accept that we are bonded and that this is your home. She wants you to work for her but understands your reluctance to move."

"Did she say anything about Hadley?"

Eric, his eyes still locked onto mine, shook his head.

Feeling a chill, I shivered. Eric took his jacket from my hands and draped it over my shoulders like a cape.

"As for the Arkansas vamps, we were able to dispatch them quite easily. Jake, too. Jade Flower was quite formidable but we had sufficient forces this evening. Even with several extra Weres, they came curiously undermanned."

"Those Weres? The party-crashers? They were with Arkansas?"

"Party-crashers?"

"It's an expression. The uninvited Weres? They were part of Arkansas's attack team?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"Eric, do you think maybe more were supposed to come but backed out at the last minute? We were thinking it had to be Las Vegas and it turned out to be Arkansas. _Maybe it was supposed to be both of them_, only Las Vegas double-crossed Arkansas by not showing up." Maybe I sounded a little too enthusiastic deconstructing a diabolical vampire plot, but it was definitely more interesting than trying to remember whether it was time to refill the ketchup or mustard dispensers.

"Yes, Pam and I had come to the same conclusion. The possibility of a partnership of forces. You know what they say." Looking at me, Eric's lips were turned in a wry smile.

Uh oh. "No, what do they say?"

"War makes strange _bedfellows_."

"Um, yeah." I felt a little warmth travel along my neck; why did conversations with Eric always go _there_? I knew he'd claim that he wasn't doing it on purpose and he'd say it was me twisting his words, but I knew he was full of it. "What's the other one? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

Eric nodded. "Yes, that's a good one, too. I'll have to speak with Sophie Anne about tonight's guest list. We didn't hear anything from the Las Vegas camp saying they could no longer make it?"

"Nope, not a word. I can doublecheck with Quinn if he knows something more. Russell RSVPd that he wouldn't be coming. I think he must be traveling," I shrugged. "He said he was looking forward to spending some time in Indiana."

Eric chuckled. I felt his hand caressing my back before settling low, just below the curve of my lower back. Closing my eyes, I inhaled, breathing in his scent. I sensed him move and wasn't surprised to feel his lips grazing my ear and neck; before I could stop myself, I moaned. Slightly mortified by my less-than-ladylike response to Eric, my eyes shot open; I bit down on my lower lip. New subject. Old subject. Any subject.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Which one is that, Sookie? You are especially inquisitive this evening."

"Um, the one about how much of my fight with Debbie you saw?"

Eric laughed, a rich deep laugh. "I did answer that question. I told you I sadly missed the fight. I have, however, already put a request in with Donati for the security footage."

My mouth fell open. "You didn't!"

Still chuckling, he nodded. "I did. I heard your fight was very impressive. I am looking forward to seeing it, as is Pam. Perhaps we'll screen it at Fangtasia one night the club is closed."

Shaking my head, I lifted my hand up to cover his mouth. "Eric, don't even joke about that!" But I was laughing, too. I felt Eric's lips move under my fingers. His kiss on my palm sent a jolt of electricity throughout my body. Startled, I gasped. Suddenly Eric grabbed my wrist and took my hand in his own.

"You asked what I saw. I told you the truth. I didn't see your fight, but I did hear some of your conversation."

Oh.

"I heard you tell the were-bitch that you were _seeing someone_. I believe those were your exact words."

"Um," I replied. "Yeah, I told her that so she'd stop thinking I was after Alcide."

Eric raised a brow at me. "You're lying now." He smiled at me—a beautiful, smug smile that made me want to smack him and kiss him at the same time. "You were, however, being truthful then."

Dammit! I hated the Sookie Channel! And I _really_ wanted to wipe that _smug_ off his face. "Yeah, well. How do you know I meant you?"

Eric started to laugh. "I've given you not one, but _two_ jobs. A cell phone. I made sure your conversations with the tiger were interrupted. The fact that you're such a trouble-magnet has worked to my favor in that your home has been compromised and I've been forced to sequester you for your own safety. If you didn't mean me, I'd like to know who has managed to get near to you?"

Shocked by his unbelievably unapologetic and outrageous behavior, I found myself laughing in amazement. "I can't believe you're admitting how high-handed you are!"

"High-handed? What does this mean?"

I rolled my eyes. "You've got to be kidding. Bossy. Domineering. You think you know what's best for everybody."

"No," his eyes met mine; I nearly gasped at their intensity. "Not everyone. I know what's best for me." He accentuated his words with a kiss. "And for you." Another kiss.

"Uh-huh," I nodded, as I finally gathered the wherewithal to pull my lips away from his. "Exactly! How do _you_ know what's best for _me_?"

He kissed me again then and I felt it down to my toes. Right. He tunes into the Sookie Channel a lot.

"I know what you're feeling lover, even if you don't or don't want to believe it." He nuzzled me again and as tired as I was, everything in the world felt right in that moment. Dammit. New topic?

"Who was the vampire room service attendant?"

"Henrik Feith."

Oh. That made sense. Bad question ahead. "What about Yvetta?"

"Still at large." My face must've betrayed how uneasy that answer made me, as Eric sought to reassure me. "Don't worry. We'll find her." I nodded. I really wanted her caught.

"What're you gonna do with Mark?"

"We're negotiating his life to reverse the spell on the florist."

That wasn't the answer I was expecting. "What will you do with him though?" I shuddered at the thought of my next words, but it wasn't like the man hadn't lived with ill intentions. "If you don't off him, what will you do with him?"

"We may be able to glamour him into a state we feel comfortable with."

"But he could…"

Eric raised an eyebrow at me. "Are you advising me to _off him, _Sookie?"

"No," I shook my head. At least I didn't think so. Talk about your tangled webs. I yawned.

"Tired?"

"Yes, human. Remember?"

"I always remember."

"I need to thank Amelia again. For the wards. I thought I'd have another opportunity to talk with her tonight."

"You can catch up with her tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah. Okay." All of a sudden, something else occurred to me. "Please don't tell me I'm working tomorrow."

"No," he grinned. "You have tomorrow off."

"Thank God," I mumbled.

Going over my mental list of topics, I knew I'd covered nearly everything I'd wanted to—everything I'd felt I had to—except for one; I still had that sneaking suspicion about our "date" that I needed to resolve once and for all.

"Eric, I have something I have to ask you about our _date_."

"Ask."

"When did you decide I was attending the gala as myself?"

"Yesterday."

"Why?"

"I thought it might be advantageous."

"How?"

"As the plot seemed to concern you as well, I thought it might be to our advantage that they see you were there."

"They might do something differently so as to not accidentally off the telepath?"

"Something like that."

"So when you said it was a date, earlier, that was bullshit?"

"Sookie, when did I say it was a date?"

Thinking back, I realized, to my chagrin, that Eric had never, in fact, ever called it a _date_. I had. He'd only said his interest in me that evening was _pleasure_.

Well, heck. Now for my suspicion. "Earlier, during the drive to the hotel…Were you deciding what you were going to say to me—based on the play-by-play you were getting on the Sookie Channel?"

Silently he regarded me and I could tell I was on to something by the look in his eyed.

"Sookie, I wanted to understand your true feelings. Honestly, I didn't expect you to be so amenable when I showed up at your house Tuesday night." He leveled a look at me. "You surprised me. As for the corsage, it was there because I bought it for you."

"But were you waiting to see how I reacted to you before deciding whether or not you were gonna give it to me?"

"My feelings have never been in question. I've always wanted you. Knowing what you wanted, on the other hand, required some...ah...investigation."

"Investigation?" I repeated, sourly. "You know, of course, when you don't answer my questions directly, I'm just gonna assume I'm right? As for you always wanting me, yeah, I got that; you always wanted to have sex with me."

Apparently very amused by that observation, Eric erupted in laughter. "And I still do. Don't ever doubt it. I do, however, want more than that."

"_More than that_? So _a lot_ of sex then…" My voice was laden with sarcasm.

"Please, don't…" Eric looked at me. His eyes, so stark in their hunger, nearly took my breath away. "You know better, my Sookie. When you asked before why I didn't glamour your memories. The truth is I enjoy my time with you, every second of every minute. Why would I wish to steal even one second from you, as I'd be stealing it also from myself?"

Oh.

"As for what more I want, I want to see you laugh. I want to make you feel better when you hurt. I want to hold you as you sleep. I want to care for you, and keep you safe."

Oh. Wow. I was gone. My knees even felt shaky. I could no longer say I didn't know where Eric was coming from; he'd pretty much laid it out for me.

I felt a smile plant itself squarely on my face.

But then I remembered again how sneaky, underhanded, and unethical he'd been during the drive over to the hotel, deliberately switching back and forth between saying things to make me think we were on a date and saying things to indicate it was "just business." He purposely manipulated me, setting my emotions up for a rollercoaster ride just so he could get a more accurate read on the Sookie Channel.

I could feel my smile transitioning into a scowl.

Could I forgive him? What would it take?

Still undecided, I frowned at my date.

Eric expelled something that sounded suspiciously like a sigh of exasperation. "Come, Sookie. It's late. I'll take you home. You can continue arguing with me in the car."

Riled up at the implication I'd heard too many times that week, my frown deepened. "No thank you!" I replied with a definite coolness in my voice. "I wouldn't want to take you out of your way. I imagine you have a lot still that needs to be done and chauffeuring me to Bon Temps —."

"I never said your home."

Oh. "Michele's house?"

"Guess again."

"Your home?" Caught off-guard, my reply came out sounding more curious than anything.

"Is that a problem, my Sookie?"

Was it? While I thought it was wrong of Eric to use the Sookie Channel as an unfair advantage to help him decide what to say to me, I can't say I hadn't used my telepathy in that same way my entire life. I knew who to approach and who to stay away from because of my extra sense. Knowing actual thoughts was considerably more intrusive than just knowing feelings.

What if Eric had been a master at reading body language? Would I have been as upset as I was if he'd just been highly talented at deciphering non-verbal clues? I knew the answer to that and it was a big fat 'no'.

Instead of being flattered by how important he felt it was to get it right with me, or being touched by his feelings of insecurity, I was choosing to be upset. I was choosing to be upset that Eric, a thousand year old vampire who was maybe the one individual on the planet with less 21st century dating experience than me—used his insight into my emotions to guide his actions in how to approach me.

I felt something in me soften towards him.

"Nope." Hmmm. Maybe. "Wait a minute. You're not angling for sex, are you?"

Not saying a word, Eric raised an eyebrow at me.

"Eric!" I laughed. "I don't believe you!"

"And yet, here I am, being honest." He was looking at me with puppy dog eyes.

"Yeah, I know," I continued to chuckle. "I don't mean I don't believe you as in I think you're lying. I mean I don't believe you as in I don't believe how incorrigible you are!"

"Why should it surprise you that I want to make love to you? We are _seeing each other_, after all."

_Make love? _"Yeah," I agreed slowly nodding my head. "But we only started seeing each other today!"

My rebuttal actually seemed to give Eric some food for thought. He fell silent and seemed to consider my protests.

"All right, how about this: tonight we'll just snuggle?"

"You promise? We'll just snuggle?"

"Promise."

"Okay. Deal." My lips curled into a smile, while inwardly I winced. I really needed to introduce my mouth to my brain one of these days.

Eric, pleased as punch to have gotten his way, smiled at me and it was enough to make me melt inside. Watching Eric, all 6'4" of muscle, blonde hair, black tuxedo pants, black dress shirt, and gorgeous red vest, I almost couldn't breathe. Not usually fatalistic in my worldview, as I regarded Eric, my date, I experienced an overwhelming sense of fate taking over; it was like a locomotive was heading straight for me and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

Snuggle. Yeah right. I'd bet a million dollars he'd snuggle me right out of my panties, well before the sun rose in the sky.

"Ready, my Sookie?" Eric held out his hand to me and in his smile I caught a glimpse of that childlike enthusiasm I'd come to think of as infectious.

Was I ready? "Yep." A smile tugging at my lips in response to his, I took his hand and felt an excitement within me grow.

It really _was_ infectious.

* * *

**AN: Aw. /insert your own imagined happy lemons here. Thank you so much for joining me on this ride! I am really grateful for every fave, alert, and review. Readers' interest and enthusiasm can work miracles during those sad moments when energy or inspiration wanes. You all rock! Special hugs to my friends and supporters. I'd love to list everyone out by name, but I'm afraid I'd miss someone and I'd feel terrible if I did that. **

**If you're wondering about all the unanswered questions- Will Sookie take the job at the El Dorado? What about the big bad? Does Bill make it back from Peru? Who are the fairies sniffing around Sook? Have we seen the last of Yvetta? What happened to Sookie's wig? (*raises eyebrow*). Well, I've done that bombs-in-the-garden thing. Set the stage for a sequel! Next up, though, is "Your Autumn Moon." **


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